


Act of Kindness

by megamazing



Series: This Family Has Problems With Emotional Expression [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (becasue it's deadpool), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, Denial of Feelings, Dubious Science, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Peter-centric, Strong Language, mental health mention, natasha's meddling, peter and tony's mentor/paternal relationship, peter is 22 not a minor, pry that trope from my cold dead hands, they're not literally related, what is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamazing/pseuds/megamazing
Summary: Wade is a mess, for obvious reasons. Peter isn’t, until he is.Tony isn’t Peter’s father, and Peter’s an adult, but sometimes they forget that.Family and friendships tend to make life a whole lot more complicated than anyone ever expects. Throw in a healthy dose of sexual tension and things are bound to get worse before they get better! When everyone is stubborn, and no one wants to talk until it’s too late, drama and angst ensue and Natasha has had enough of it all.Boys. They never learn…*1/2 of companion series: do not need to read one before the other, but this was posted first*





	1. Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t a song fic per se, but come on. Act of Kindness by Bastille SCREAMS Peter and Wade to me, and I just couldn’t help myself.
> 
> Also, like mentioned in the description, this fic is part of a companion/duology type of thing. BUT you don’t need to read both to understand the story, and there’s not a necessarily specific order if you do. I kept them separated because four perspectives are Too Much for me in one fic, and also because I know that there’s a good number of spideypool shippers who prefer stucky to stony, and as this one is primarily a spideypool fic, I didn’t want to alienate too many people. Any stony content in this one is only mentioned/teased, not shown.
> 
> Canon is hard. Between the movies and the comics, it’s enough to drive people (me) up a wall. You don’t need to know anything about the comics really, but there are side characters who are not in the MCU with the Avengers as of the time I am writing this. The Avenger’s roster is long and constantly changing, so I picked and chose where I saw fit. Apologies in advance to those who are picky about their Avengers teams!
> 
> Side note: the boxes are fun to write, but a little more difficult for me to gage how well they’re coming across. Advice is welcomed and extremely appreciated, as always!
> 
> […] = Yellow  
> {…} = White

> “An act of kindness
> 
> Is what you show to me
> 
> It caught me by surprise in this town of glass and eyes
> 
> Kindness, so many people past me by
> 
> But you warm me to my core and you left me wanting more”
> 
> ~Act of Kindness – Bastille

 

WADE

In a battle against a horde of invading alien douchebags, one must always carry heavy weaponry.

[No shit, Sherlock.]

“Fuck you, Yellow, no one asked you,” Wade snarled, spinning around and nailing one of the green freaks right between what he was going to assume were nostrils. “BOOM! Headshot!”

“Cut the commentary, Deadpool,” Hawkeye ordered, shooting off his little explosive arrows with the most adorable grumpy-face known to man. Wade told him as much, and he was rewarded with the finger before Short Stack ran off across the rooftops to get to the next point, or whatever the fuck Captain Sparkle Pants’ strategy called for next.

Deadpool wasn’t there to follow some dumb strategy –  he was there to unalive as many aliens as he could before the heroes made him stop and play nice with the little invaders.

In fact, this was one of the only times Spidey _didn’t_ get his knickers in a twist about Wade’s methods of dealing out justice.

{I think you mean “justice”; air quotes included.}

And Spidey was the real reason Wade was even there, fighting alongside the Avengers, in the first place. A fact which resulted in Wade pinching himself every so often in order to insure this wasn’t just a wacked-out fever dream. He got those from time to time. It was a continuously-regenerative cancer thing.

But no, it _was_ real, and Spiderman himself had asked Wade to tag along! How fucking lucky was that? Wade Wilson was never that lucky.

As if the universe wanted to remind him of just that, everything started going to shit. And not in the fun way. He wouldn’t have even noticed it happening, had Iron Man not called for reinforcements for himself and the Spider-dweeb on the north side.

[You noticed because we’re obsessed with the webbed-wonder. It’s ok, you can admit it. This is a safe space.]

{Technically, we could get shot in the dick at any moment. So, it ain’t that safe.}

“Worth it!” Deadpool exclaimed, bulldozing his way toward the bridge.

He saw Iron Man and War Machine knocking the little buggers out of the air side by side, making their way toward the center. It should have been easy for the two of them to get there, but everything was always more complicated once magic got thrown in to the mix. Especially when their blonde god of thunder was MIA. Plus, Strange hadn’t been around lately, due to something about portals and a monastery in Asia – Deadpool hadn’t really been listening when Spiderman was explaining all the latest gossip last week.

But none of that mattered the instant Wade got on top of one of the overturned semi-trucks and saw the reason Iron Man had called for backup.

He surveyed the scene and less than a second later, his brain went to static.

His guns were out and he was shooting the ever-living fuck out of anything that got in his way, but he couldn’t feel a thing.

Spiderman was lying prone against one of the ripped-open cars.

Wade heard Iron Man shouting, “Get him out of here!” and suddenly he was running again. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten through the horde of fuckers, but then he was crouching next to the web slinger, checking for a pulse.

A tight knot Wade hadn’t even felt forming suddenly released in his chest as he found it, slow and muted but there all the same.

“Mhuh,” Spiderman mumbled, his wrist jutting out, sending one an attacker flying backwards over Wade’s shoulder with the web shooter. “Got your back,” he said, half coherent.

Wade laughed, because how could he not? “How bout we take this party back to my place, huh?”

“Kidnaping…” but Wade didn’t hear the rest of whatever Spiderman had meant to say, because the guy passed out, going limp in Wade’s arms.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Go!” Iron Man bellowed, clearing Wade’s path with a hot blast of blue light. He couldn’t remember what Spidey called those things. Wade would have to ask him later, after he’d woken back up. But first – safety.

Stark no doubt intended for Wade to dump Spiderman back at their big fancy tower, but fuck that idea. Wade’s place was closer and had a significant lack of judgy assholes that the tower was literally filled with. He didn’t know Spiderman all that well, but he did know the guy had just recently made it officially onto the A-team. It would suck ass to be that one newbie that passed out on one of their first runs, and Wade was a kind and caring soul: he couldn’t let the Spidey suffer such indignity.

Also: Spiderman. In Wade’s apartment.

The fan club was going to _freak out_.

\----

PETER

He woke up to darkness and the smell of stale fabric. Having been a superhero for years now, and having been captured more than a handful of times, Peter knew better than to start flailing about wildly. Instead, he kept his eyes closed and tried to remember what the hell had happened…

There had been a fight, duh.

He felt it in his ribs and his left shoulder and – _ouch_ – his face, too. As far as he could tell, he had bandages wrapped tightly around his midsection, extending up and around the shoulder that was killing him every time he moved.

He didn’t seem to be on any pain medication which sucked majorly, but then again, at least the only thing muddling his mind was the pain. Pain he could power through – drugs, not so much.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of people moving around and talking on the floors both above and below. Apartment complex or an office building? And he was in a bed. Or at the very least, it was a mattress with a blanket and pillows. The cheap, only partially stuffed pillows that screamed low-budget in a way Peter was all too familiar with.

So, either the baddie was a cheap bastard, didn’t care, or was just as poor as Peter Parker. Great.

The room also stunk of bleach and antiseptic, as well as what Peter _hoped_ was his own blood and sweat on the sheets. He decided not to think too hard about what else it could have been.

He couldn’t hear any breathing in the room, nor the tell-tale hum of a machine, so Peter let one eye drift slowly open; praying there wasn’t some camera pointed right in his face that would alert whoever had taken him that their prisoner was –

“SPIDEY!”

Peter jerked involuntarily, causing what he now knew as a deep tear in his abdomen to spasm and his eyesight to fade out around the edges, going blurry. Peter gasped in pain, and then he could only see red.

Or rather, red and black.

Red and black and white…an apron over a suit...?

“Fuck me,” Peter wheezed. It was Deadpool.

“I’d love to, Spiderbutt, but I’m supposed to be making sure you don’t bleed out, and trust me when I say; my dick too bomb. Literally.”

“I…what?” Peter asked, angling up on one arm while pressing the other gently to his side. It was hard enough to keep up with Deadpool on a good day, but throw in what just might be a gunshot wound to the abdomen and it was nigh on impossible.

Deadpool waved off Peter’s confusion and came around to lean over the side of the bed. Peter tried to shift away out of instinct, but didn’t get too far as another spasm of pain shot down his spine.

“Here I thought the first words out of our mouth were going to be something like: _oh Wade! My savior! Thank you so much, how will I ever be able to repay such a gallant and dashing hero_?!” Wade mocked. He started to poke around Peter’s bad side, checking the bandages and looking for signs of increased bleeding, all while ignoring Peter’s half-hearted protests.

“Where…are we?” Peter asked slowly, regaining his breath. Whatever injury he had sustained, it must have been gruesome for his own slight healing factor to still leave him this out of it.

Deadpool leaned back, stretching his arms out wide. “Welcome to Casa de Deadpool! The one and only Wade Manor!”

Peter glanced around the small room with bullet-riddled drywall and patchy, peeling wall paper. Yeah, this was about what he expected from the man who had to be reminded that washing his gloves was an important part of daily hygiene – especially considering he went to the _bathroom_ with those things on.

Sure, the super-suit was annoying sometimes, and Peter was pretty lazy when he had the opportunity to be, but even he was nowhere near that bad. Then he realized Wade had been handling his wounds with those very same gloves and choked out a gagging sound.

“Augh! Please tell me you disinfected your hands earlier? Wait, scratch that. Don’t tell me. Don’t even look at me – I don’t want to know.”

“ _Not_ look at the prettiest face to ever grace these hallowed halls?” Wade asked incredulously, a hand over his heart.

Peter froze, only then comprehending the lack of fabric over his cheeks, then his eyes flicked over to where his mask lay on the nightstand. The thing was half torn to shreds, and yet he still itched to shove it back on.

Wade seemed to understand Peter’s panic, and held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, no worries about the secret identity. My memory is shit, Spidey-boy, I probably won’t even remember what your hair color looks like tomorrow morning, much less be able to pick you out of a crowd.”

Peter didn’t buy that for a second but…he appreciated the effort. Huh. That was a strange feeling, appreciating something Wade did. “Thank you,” he replied automatically, still feeling shell-shocked by it all.

Wade looked uncomfortable at that, and mumbled something to those boxes in his head he always talked to.

“So, uh. Does anyone know I’m here?” Peter asked, trying to keep his mind off the pain.

“I’m hurt, Spidey. You think I kidnapped you?” Then the eyeholes of Wade’s mask blew wide open. “Holy mother of tits, Yellow, you’re right!” Wade exclaimed, jumping back from the bed, his arms flailing out in wide arcs. “You’re legal, aren't you? Fuckity shit, have I been perving on a _kid_ this whole time?! You’ve got that baby face that could be either be twenty-five or sixteen. Good God of Pornography, _say_ something!”

“I would if you’d stop freaking out for more than five seconds!” Peter exclaimed, trying not to laugh at the horrified expression on Wade’s face. He thought about lying and saying he was seventeen just to watch Wade have a mental break down, but then thought about the fact that Wade was pretty unstable already, and decided against it.

 “I’m twenty-two. You’re not a pedophile, Wade.”

Wade let out an exaggerated breath and flopped down on the bed again. “That’s a relief. Now I can perv in peace without feeling creepy.”

“Yeah no, you’re still creepy,” Peter teased back, unable to help the smile playing at his lips. He knew what Wade was doing, or at least he thought he did – providing a distraction. As surprised as Peter had been at his earlier bout of appreciation for the loon, he was less surprised to find himself feeling comfortable. It was still weird, Wade would always be weird, but it wasn’t the bad kind.

Now that they weren’t on the job and Peter wasn’t constantly paranoid Wade was going to kill someone, blow everything up, or some chaotic combination of the two, it was easy to joke around. It was easy to talk to him, or more often listen and occasionally interject something into the rambling stream of consciousness that was Wade’s brand of communication.  

Somehow, the next time Peter looked out of the window of Wade’s living room – hours after Peter had made a comment about video games and Wade had _demanded_ the chance to kick Peter’s ass “for realsies” – it was pitch black outside.

Peter frowned. “Hey, what time is it?”

“No idea, clock got busted last time Cable got pissy about _respect_ and _duty,_ and _you can’t_ _wear a hooker dress on this mission_ , _Wilson,_ ” Wade mocked, putting down the controller to do proper air quotes.  

Peter was _that close_ to taking the bait and asking about the dress, but shook his head in an attempt to clear out the mental image instead. “Is that why you’re always late to everything?”

Wade scoffed. “I’m never late. I run by the only time stamp that matters,” he said, waiting for Peter to ask.

“Deadpool time?”

“Lady Liberty’s!”

“But aren’t you Canadian? I distinctly remember Black Widow mentioning something about Canada in your debrief.”

“Well if you want to get technical about it,” Wade said, sniffing. “Shut up, Whitey, I know we’re banned. I was there!”

Peter paused for a moment, considering if he wanted to know the story behind that one, or if he’d sleep better at night if he let it go. One quick look at the rising moon and the sudden panic at remembering he hadn’t called Aunt May yet, and she definitely would have seen the news about the battle, and he forced himself to stand up.

“I better get going, it’s way later than I thought,” he said, proud of the way he didn’t let out a pathetic squeak at the twinge of pain that resurfaced at his movement. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, and he probably could have left Wade’s hours back, but he’d been having fun and lost track of time. That sort of thing really only happened when he was neck deep in science mode either with Tony or by himself in his at-home lab (otherwise known as his crappy kitchen).

“Bed time already? Thought you said you were legal?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “More like I better get home and call my Aunt before she gets worried and tries to cook, or worse, bake.” He shuddered, remembering the last time he’d been injured worse than this, and had come home to a plate of rock solid cookies that tasted almost exactly like the ash pile he’d crawled out of.

“Ew. Family. Can’t relate.” Wade kicked his feet up on the coffee table and threw his arms out along the back of the couch. “Well then get going, shorty. You can only cramp my style for so long: Daddy’s got bills to pay.”

“Whatever, nut-job. I’ll see you later,” Peter called, slipping out the window and onto the fire escape before quietly making his way out into the night,

It wasn’t until Peter finally crawled into his own bed that he realized he’d forgotten his mask entirely. Oh well, he reasoned, he could always go back for it tomorrow.

And that was the start of it.

The start of Wade and Peter running into each other more often, so much so that they had built up a routine of Wade joining Peter on patrol, and of almost weekly gaming sessions as Wade’s place. Peter just kept on showing up every Friday night, usually with a dumb excuse like “forgot my mask” (he had multiple), or slightly better ones about looking for information on someone (which was only good until he thought about the Avengers' resources he now had access to, and the fact he was friends with Natasha), and then the downright terrible ones that started with stuff like, “So I thought of this joke…”.

But Wade never called him out on the excuses, regardless. That was probably the second weirdest thing about it all, since Wade called Peter out on absolutely everything else.

“That’s bullshit, Spidey,” he said one day through a mouthful of pizza. That was another, much more logical reason Peter had for coming over: free food.

“No, it’s not!”

“I may be a few screws short of a tool shed, but even I know ' _we still love each other_ ' just about the worst cop-out there is.”

“I do love her! MJ is great, she’s amazing. I’m lucky she even gives me the time of day.”

Wade dropped his slice to tick off his points on his fingers. “She can’t accept your lifestyle, you resent that, the two of you fight it out, then have mind blowing make up sex, and the wheel keeps on turning. This is textbook telenovela stuff. Trust me. Next, one of you is going to kill the other’s mom or best friend or dog and then become the most notorious serial killer there ever was.”

“But…” ignoring the last part of that, what Wade said hit too close to home.

“Stringing your relationship along for the sake of a comfortable routine isn’t fair to either of you,” Wade said seriously. “It’s pretty damn selfish.”

Peter could only blink. The rare moments when Wade was serious and spouted genuine wisdom were enough to knock Peter off his feet. It was hard to reconcile this version of Wade with the loud-mouthed merc who frequently mooned his opponents during battle, and shot people in the dick because it was “funnier that way”.

But the moment was over as quick as it came, and suddenly Wade was grinning widely under the mask. “Don’t think because your love life is pathetic that I’m going to let you win. Your hand-eye coordination on COD is shit and kicking Spiderman’s ass fair and square is one of the finer joys in life.”

“Fuck you, Wade, you always cheat! Just for that, you’re going down!”

“LOOK WHO’S WINNING!”

Peter did end up ending things with MJ just a few days after that conversation. He hadn’t gone to Wade’s house that Friday. Instead Deadpool found him on top of a roof in Queens, greasy paper bag of tacos in hand. Wade had rambled at a mile a minute, letting Peter just sit there and eat, and not be so alone.

It was the first night Peter had consciously thought of Wade as a friend, and the night Peter told him about what had happened to Uncle Ben. Then about Gwen, and then everything that had happened with MJ that brought them to this.

When it was late enough that Peter knew he’d only be getting three hours of sleep at most that night, he’d said; “Thanks Wade. You’re a good friend.”

He hadn’t seen Wade for two weeks after that, the merc having apparently left town.

When Wade finally showed up again during Peter’s patrol, he acted like nothing had happened, and Peter was more than fine to go along with that.

\----

WADE

It was the day the coffee table broke that Wade knew he was really done for.

The coffee table was a piece of shit.

{Damn you, IKEA!}

But that wasn’t why Wade so utterly fucked ten ways to Sunday – he didn’t actually give a damn about the stupid thing. In fact, he probably would have broken it all on his own, eventually. But it _didn’t_ break because of Wade, hence his problem.

Spiderman broke the coffee table.

[Correction: Spiderman’s ass broke the coffee table.]

{No, Spiderman’s ass broke the coffee table _after_ being thrown across the room by Tanya Sealy.}

“WHO IS THIS?” Spidey shouted, picking himself up out of the compressed fiberboard wreckage. Maybe it was lucky Wade had gone cheap, since it broke so easily.

[Protect the booty at all costs.]

Wade laughed – because Yellow was 100% right – but his laugh was cut short by Black Mamba’s darkforce energy choking the air from his windpipe. Lovely woman. “Spidey, meet Tanya. Tan, Spidey,” he said, introducing them between gasping breaths.

Tanya cocked out her hip, leisurely crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t call me back, Wade. How’s a nice girl like me supposed to take a slight like that?” Her eyes flicked over to the Webbed Wonder. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone back to the puppy dog gays, that’s so early 2000’s.”

“Hey, it’s spiders, not puppies. I mean, come on, I got the webs and everything, it’s not that hard,” Spidey quipped, flicking out his wrist and trapping Tanya’s to the wall, safely away from Wade’s throat.

Her eyebrow quirked, and flashed the deadly smirk that meant great things for Wade in the sack, but horrible and possibly illegal things in literally any other situation. “You’re _that_ Spiderman?” Tanya whistled. “Wade, I might just get jealous.”

“Tan, my vicious, deranged, beauty; you have a body like a viper with tits, but come on. We weren’t serious!”

Her eyes flashed and, just like that, she was pissed again. Peter threw up his hands in exasperation, and this time, ok, the guy might have had a valid point. “You forget who I am, Wilson,” she continued, her tone turning significantly threatening. “Talk to me like that again, and you’ll _really_ find out why they call me the Black Mamba. Give me my damn money before things get gruesome.”

“ _Black Mamba_?” Peter squeaked. “You slept with Black Mamba?! Wade!”

Tanya tore her eyes away from glaring holes in Wade’s skull to stare dumbfoundedly at Spiderman. “ _Slept_ with? Shit, Wade, how young are you pulling these days? Has he bled yet?”

“Okay, rude,” Peter accused, and it was so adorable it would have knocked the breath out of Wade if Tanya hadn’t taken care of that already.

Peter webbed her other hand to the wall, which was cute up until Wade realized Peter genuinely didn’t understand her power set, and wasn’t trying to be funny. Black Mamba didn’t need the use of her hands to murderize them.

“Why is Black Mamba asking for money from you?” Peter asked him, still glaring at Tanya like she’d kicked a puppy right in front of him.

“It’s _my_ money, jailbait,” she spat back, looking as venomous as her namesake. Then, as she studied Spiderman, her expression turned wary. “You’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

“Fuck yeah he is!” Wade cheered, and she sent out the darkforce again, this time stronger. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath as he felt it wrap around his throat like a vice grip, memories and hallucinations swimming in his eyes. That choking move had been kinda hot in bed, but not so much now.

Lucky for Wade, his savior Spiderman was on her in an instant. “Let him go.”  The commanding tone in Spidey’s voice went straight down to–

{Focus, asshole, what if he needs backup?}

[Plus, fighting with a boner is _worse_ than kicking puppies. Keep that shit on lock, bro.]

{“Bro”? What decade are we in again?}

Wade had to bite down on his tongue to keep his focus on the two people in front of him and block out the boxes’ argument. “I don’t have beef with you, Spiderman,” Tanya was declaring. “Or the Avengers. I just want my money, and then I want to get out of town. That really too much to ask? It’s my damn property and he stole it!”

“Wade?” Spiderman questioned, not taking his eyes off Tanya for an instant. Wade totally wasn’t jealous. He might have been if he had a little more oxygen flowing to his brain, though.

Wade let out a few strangles noises, thumping his fist on the carpet. Tanya rolled her eyes and released her hold. “How the fuck you managed to steal so much from me, I will never understand.”

“I’m just that good in the sack, darling,” Wade groused, then stood up straight, gun cocked and pointed at her temple. To her credit, her eyes only widened marginally.

[That’s right bitch, bask in our glory!]

{I hope Spidey saw that.}

“Try that again and I paint my walls red. I’ve been told I need a splash of color around here. Ain’t that right, Spidey?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. Maybe angle the splatter a little to the left like a Jackson Pollock. That kind of thing’s trendy with the art-deco crowd, I hear,” Spidey agreed, in what was probably the first time he’d ever backed Wade without any hesitation. Wade was completely thrown for a second, but didn’t let it show, narrowing his eyes and pressing the barrel to her temple for good measure.

“Sounds like a plan, what do you say, Tan? Maybe we can make an art show out of it, charge five bucks at the door.”

“You’re fucked in the head, Wilson. I didn’t want trouble with the Avengers.”

“Well there’s a check mark in the sane column for you, then,” Spidey said lightly. Wade could feel Spiderman standing behind him, which was doing nothing to help his concentration.

“He’s not one of you,” Tanya argued, appealing directly to Spiderman. “Not organization in their right mind would tack on _him_ to their image. Why fight his battles and associate yourself with a lunatic?”

“My brand of crazy has nothing to do with the moon, thank you very much,” Wade corrected her lightly.

Spiderman’s mouth opened, then closed. “Wade, not helping. Look, Black Mamba, since there’s no evidence you’re doing anything particularly illegal, aside from breaking and entering and minor assault, I don’t think there’s a need to make this any uglier than it needs to be.”

“He stole my money!”

“She choked me out!" Wade argued. "What do you mean, _minor_ assault?!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t do worse, Deadpool,” Tanya growled.

“Bitch, please!” In hindsight, that was not Wade’s smoothest line.

Tanya’s eyes flashed, her face twisting in rage right before Wade’s vision was overwhelmed by darkness, and then suddenly Spiderman was in front of him. Spiderman without his mask, smiling a big toothy grin, eyes dark with the suggestive hint of…

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wade remembered the more intricate aspects of the Darkforce, but in the moment, his meager portion of rational thought was overtaken by the red and blue suit and the soft, light brown hair.

“Spidey?”

Two sets of the same voice called out, “What?”, one in front of him and one from behind.

Then the first one grinned, giving Wade a look that the real Spiderman would never give him in a million years. “Wade, that’s not really the gun of yours I like pointed in my face. Why don’t you put that down and come over here?”

It wasn’t real – obviously, it wasn’t real, since Spidey was hitting on him and giving him a look that said he might like to unwrap Wade like a birthday present – but that didn’t stop Wade’s mouth from going bone dry at the suggestion.

It was more tempting than the meager shambles of Wade’s pride would admit. But it couldn’t have been real, because Spiderman wasn’t that stupid.

“Tanya, sweetheart,” Wade cooed gently. “I was annoyed before. Maybe mildly irked. Now? You’re a dead woman walking.” He knocked aside the Darkforce skin, firing off shots in a halo around Tanya’s head, sending a warning, but she never was good at being cornered. Tanya fought back instantly, kicking out at his extended arm but he had the advantage of decades worth of shame and anger pumping through his veins. When it came down to it, she just wasn’t pissed enough. He had her pinned in a matter of minutes.

As he reared back to knock her unconscious with the butt of his gun, Spider man shouted, “Wade!”

“You’re not real!” Wade growled.

“What?! No, I am, I’m real. Don’t kill her!”

Wade was pissed, but not quite pissed enough to resist swinging his head around to give Spidey-with-a-mask the most incredulous look possible while having his face covered by red and black spandex. “Did it _look_ like I was going to kill her? If I wanted her dead, she’d be brain matter on a wall.”

“Like hell, you bastard,” Tanya growled, spitting a disgusting glob of blood and saliva onto the side of Wade’s face.

The room went quiet as Deadpool turned back to face her, her body still struggling to break free from his hold.

Spiderman must have had some kind of Jean Grey level premonition, because he shot out webbing to cover the lower half of Tanya’s face and keep her from opening her mouth before she could get out another word. That, or he figured Deadpool would do his worst if someone didn’t stop him.

[Which is valid, because we totally would have fucked her up.]

{Oh, the age old question of is it more sexist to _not_ hit her, or to knock the bitch out Rocky Balboa style?}

“Table the gender politics for later,” Wade snapped.

Spiderman threw out his arms. “I wasn’t keeping you from knocking her out because she’s a _girl_ , I did it because beating her is unnecessary right now!” he sighed, sounding exceedingly put-upon, despite not being the one Wade was talking to in the first place. Wade was used to people not getting it, but when it was Spidey, it was different.

“Get up so I can restrain her,” Peter said, but it wasn’t an order like Iron Man would have given. Spidey was too polite for that. Fuck. “Also, because you’re kinda still straddling her and it’s weird.”

Wade didn’t bother correcting Spidey, to point out that he was talking to the _boxes,_ but he did wave his gun around dramatically. “So, I can’t shoot her, can’t hit her, what am I supposed to do?!”

Tanya was glaring maliciously, looking like she’d much rather kick the ever-loving shit out of both of them.

Wade stood up off her, and ripped a chunk of the webbing away from her face with a painful-to-hear tearing sound. “Ack! You deranged, schizophrenic, psychopath! I will destroy-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as Spiderman took the opportunity to knock her lights out. With his fist.

Wade stared open-mouthed at him. “I can’t hit Black Mamba, but you can?”

“It wasn’t necessary when you wanted to. You already had her restrained,” Peter explained nonchalantly, webbing her hands together and lifting her up in a fireman’s carry like it was nothing. Tanya wasn't that heavy, but as a full grown woman with a killer set of muscles, she wasn't exactly light either.  _Bad Deadpool, not the time to get turned on by displays of power._ But oh, how freaking hot was that!? 

He covered up his internal conflict with dramatic blustering. “How was it any more necessary just then?! I will never understand you hypocritical white-knighters with your…”

Spiderman interrupted him again, shrugging awkwardly with Tanya out cold over his shoulder. “I was tired of her talking shit about you. Ok, maybe it wasn’t the _most_ polite way to handle it, but at least now I can drop her off at the police station without her trying to kill you, or me.”

Well. Wade didn’t quite know what to do with that statement. He wasn’t sure how one responded to being stood up for, especially by someone like Spiderman. He figured that more staring open-mouthed at the guy wasn’t the way to go, so he grinned, pretending that the comment hadn’t affected him at all.

“Well by all means, lead the way, Prince Charming. I’ve been meaning to check out how high my bounty’s gotten in New York. You know I once paid off a bounty in pounds of Krispy Kreme donuts? Turns out galactic overlords do have a weakness, and that weakness goes straight to their hips.”

Spidey laughed, all light and happiness again, even as he slung Black Mamba’s unconscious form over his shoulder, careful not to jostle her too badly.

Oh, Wade was a gonner. And he didn’t even know Spiderman’s real name…

\----

PETER

Peter flung himself down on the couch as soon as he entered the common floor of Avenger’s Tower. Easily the best perk to finally being on the roster was the _incredible_ couches Tony had. They put the lumpy love seat back in Peter’s apartment to shame – but then again, a one-dollar bill was sacred to Peter, and Tony hardly knew notes that low existed.

The cushions on the more-expensive-than-monthly-rent couch didn’t so much as bow when Nat came to sit by Peter’s head – how was that even possible? Maybe money warped the laws of physics…but then again, Tony didn’t believe in the word ‘impossible’. The only thing that gave the assassin’s presence away was her hand lightly brushing the hair from Peter's forehead.

“Not going to hang out in the rafters with Clint?” she asked in her strangely soothing voice.

“Too tired. Can’t quip.”

She let out a puff of air, which was as good as a belly laugh from Natasha. “Speaking of quips, I noticed you hung around Crazy a little more than usual in the field today.”

She might have been referring to the insane little robots elves they had fought on Brooklyn bridge, but Peter wasn’t that lucky. He knew exactly who she meant, and mumbled back something incoherent in response. Maybe the biggest downside to being on a team as big as the Avengers, and being the youngest of the lot, was that you were never able to avoid anyone for long; especially if you weren’t in the mood for talking.

“Which of us has a greater chance of outlasting the other, do you think?” she countered.

Logically, so long as it was a fair fight, that was Peter, hands down. Sure, Nat could be patient, but even she had nothing on Peter’s skills. However, Nat and the word _fair_ didn’t so much as belong in the same sentence. For one, she was an intensely trained super-spy, and quite literally the best in the business. Secondly…no, the spy thing was enough. Not only did it mean she could probably figure the truth out on her own, but she knew how to break people as naturally as Peter knew how to tie his shoelaces.

Let it never be said Peter Parker couldn’t recognize when he was outplayed.

That being said, he still gave her a cop-out answer. No one was perfect. “Cap said swing left, and he just so happened to be to my left.”

She hummed. “He made certain he was to your left.” Was it better that she didn’t ask him to clarify who the “he” was, or just depressing that she saw right through him?

Peter grumbled and sat up, crossing his arms over his chest until he realized it made him look far too much like a petulant child to be having a conversation Black Widow. Not that she was ever impressed, but he should at least stop making it so _easy_ for her to grin at him like that.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at. Hawkeye does the same with you all the time.”

“He does,” she said simply, staring Peter down.

Oh, hell. What was worse: getting the Disappointed Dad look from Cap, or the no less subtle ‘ _I’ll wait_ ’ look from Nat?

He _was not_ sweating. “So…you two are just friends,” he argued quickly. “Everyone knows that. Just friends. It’s no big deal. That’s us. Really, really good friends.”

“Really, really good friends…” she repeated slowly. “With Deadpool?”

If she hadn’t already been suspicious, she was now. _Great job on putting out that fire, Pete,_ really _solid work_.

“No, not like that! Not in a weird way! I mean, I guess I wouldn’t say _really,_ really good friends. Just. You know.”

“Friends,” she finished for him. Then the left eyebrow was raised and Peter wanted to eat his shoe. Why did nobody believe him that he didn’t have a thing for Wade? They were just two guys. Two guys being bros. Good bros. Great Bros. That’s all.

Crap. Even in his head, he knew how stupid that sounded.

Nat was smiling like she could read everything he was thinking right on his face. Screw secret identities, _this_ was why masks were important. Peter hung his head, feeling defeated and confused all over again.

“I don’t have a thing for Wade,” he insisted. At least he meant to insist, but it didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

“ _Wade_ , huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Does he know your name?” she asked, her tone more serious now as she leaned forward with her elbows balanced on her knees to be level with him.

Peter shook his head and let it hang. “Nope. He’s seen my face, though. I was injured, it couldn’t be helped.”

“Hm. Tony mentioned something about that.”

“What did he say?” Peter asked, his head snapping back up.

“He was worrying over you again, nothing out of the ordinary,” she explained, waving off his curiosity with a roll of her eyes.

“Did he _say_ the word worried?”

“Of course not, no one is allowed to know Tony’s really made of marshmallow fluff under all that metal.” Well, she wasn’t wrong there. Nat paused for a moment then continued, meeting Peter’s eyes with renewed purpose. “I think it’s a good thing you haven’t told him, yet.”

“But you think I’m going to?” He hadn’t actually decided that one for himself. Yet…

She paused again, studying him in the way that always had him feeling like the kid who stole a cookie from the cookie jar. “Yes,” Natasha decided, finally. “That much is inevitable, but only after you realize you trust him. It would have been a mistake to do it sooner, just because he saw your face. Had you done it then, you’d be worried about him revealing your identity, or doing something to put your aunt in unnecessary danger by association. Stress like that would ruin whatever it is you two have going on.”

“Friendship,” Peter clarified. Again.

“Right. Friendship.” Nat didn’t sound convinced, but at least she was no longer teasing.

Strangely enough, Nat was the easiest person on the team to like. She shouldn’t be – considering she knew more ways to kill a person than the rest of them combined – but still. Natasha protected her own, did was what right, and she was honest. Even if she went about accomplishing those things differently than Cap did, it was still true. Peter respected that.

He swallowed the lump in his throat quickly and stood. Too much emotion was hazardous for his health. “I’m going to stop by the lab then head out. Duty calls bright and early at six-thirty AM!”

She smirked. “The duty to take pictures of your own ass for money?”

Peter held out his hands with a big, cheesy smile. “What can I say? It pays the bills.”

\----

Really, he only meant to _briefly_ check up on the experiment that he had set up in his little corner of Tony’s main laboratory, and then head straight home. But the genius himself was there when Peter peaked in – hard at work, not back from defending the city and the team from legal trouble caused by property damage for more than an hour – and looking less human and more Mad Scientist by the minute.

So, Peter being Peter, knowing the overwhelming pull of science better than most people in the tower, ran back up to the kitchens to pull out some human food and more of Tony’s favorite sludge (otherwise known as plain black coffee).

When he came back in, Tony hardly noticed. He was running back and forth between two stations, keeping one from lighting on fire and the other from melting through the table.

“New repulsor applications?” Peter asked, setting the food down in Tony’s line of vision.

“Huh? Hey there, Slinger!” Tony exclaimed, apparently noticing Peter for the first time, despite FRIDAY having announced Peter’s presence the moment he entered. Then Tony’s eyes lit up as he looked down to the sandwich and coffee. “Food!”

Within the next three seconds, he had downed half the sub.

Peter didn’t so much as blink. He was used to this kind of thing, having experienced it himself nearly every time he got to fiddling with his web shooters and formula and forgot to rejoin society for hours on end.

He poked around one of the stations until Tony slapped his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah. No touchy,” Tony reprimanded through a mouthful of half-chewed sandwich.

“You’re welcome,” Peter prompted, knowing he wasn’t getting a thank you from Tony during either of their lifetimes.

“So, why’d you pop in? Trouble with the release?”

“Nah, I got that sorted out with that lighter solution of the grease last time. I was just making sure you didn’t collapse from malnutrition. Again.”

“Hey,” Tony said defensively, pointing a finger at him. “That was one time.”

“One time that _I_ was there for. Didn’t Pepper say…”

“Enough story time, Pete, you’re distracting me. I’m working _genius_ here.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to protect my internship. You know how it is.”

He got nearly to the door before Tony chucked a wrench across the room. Peter snatched out of the air it just before it could smack him in the back of the head. “Make yourself useful,” Tony demanded, “and help with the repairs to Bucky’s bike.”

Peter grinned, deciding to press his luck a little more. “How about the suit-case suit?”

“Hell no! That’s my new baby, you keep your webby little fingers off it, Parker.”

\----

The two of them worked side by side in silence for the better part of three hours, with only Tony’s god awful scream-o (“ _I’ll cut out your tongue the next time you call ACDC scream-o, you uncultured millennial_ ”) and the sounds of metal on metal between them.

Tony was a little quieter than usual, only throwing out three off-hand remarks where there usually would have been ten, and it didn’t take a super-genius to figure out why.

“How long is Cap gonna be gone this time?” Peter asked nonchalantly, not daring to meet Tony’s eye. But the effort was in vain because Tony kept his eyes trained on his work.

“Eight days. Two weeks at most,” Tony answered back automatically, then seemed to realized he’d said that out loud and his lips pursed. “Why? Missing the geezer already?”

_Yeah, because_ I’m _the one pinning after America’s sweetheart,_ Peter thought with a carefully concealed eye roll.

“Oh, no reason. He’s just usually down here by now, force feeding you protein bars or making you take a nap.”

Tony coughed out a laugh, in the most unconvincing way possible. Peter wondered if the guy knew how red his ears got when he was bullshitting. “Right. Gotta burn the midnight oil as long as I can while Mom’s away.”

“You two have a heartfelt goodbye after the mission ended?” Peter teased, not missing a beat.

Tony looked up and raised an eyebrow. “No, but now that we’re discussing heartfelt goodbyes, maybe we should get to yours.”

He frowned, feeling like he’d missed something. “Huh?”

Suddenly, Tony was grinning for real, and it was never a good thing when his face got like that. It meant something evil. Or embarrassing. Or both. “What was it the wack-job said just before the team split up? _‘Love you, miss you, mean it’_?”

Peter groaned, tossing the canister (gently) aside, but Tony wasn’t done.

“Oh, no, right before that was my favorite bit, it had Katniss ready to puke up a lung: ‘ _See you back home sweet-ums_!’” Tony started cackling, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.

“It’s not like I told him to do that!” Peter protested, but Tony was too busy laughing while Peter scowled. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up now, bucket-head. We’ll see who’s the one laughing the next time Wade blows up a building with your name on it, since that accounts for like, half of New York.”

“Seriously Slinger, it’s just too good. You got yourself a groupie!”

“He’s been pulling this stuff for years! Why is everyone psychoanalyzing it all of a sudden? You’ll all give yourself headaches trying to wrap your-”

“ _Stop_ , stop, stop!’ Tony exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hand over his ears. “My mind just went to a dark, dark place that it will _never_ go to again so long as you don’t finish that sentence.”

Peter threw up his arms, exclaiming, “Why?!” Why was this happening? Why did he do this to himself?

“Now there’s a good question,” Tony mused, tapping the end of the blowtorch against his chin. “Why the hell are you putting up with this shit from the likes of him?”

“He does this to everyone?”

“Uh. No-go on that logic, short stuff. He doesn’t even pull that with Luke, and those two have known each other for decades.”

“Maybe because Luke is terrifying and could throw him through a window? Plus, Jessica would break Wade in half the second he opened his mouth.” They had very aggressive friends, Peter realized.

“Point,” Tony conceded. “Maybe it’s because you’re so gosh dang adorable, Spiderman, but that guy is on you like Thor on Pop-tarts.”

“In a friend way, not…like _that_!” Peter defended, knowing full well he was fueling Tony’s fire, but unable to shut himself up.

“Maybe your high school sex-ed experience was a little lacking, considering you spent most of it punching green goblin men in the face, but we don’t wax rhapsodic about our _friends’_ spandex-clad asses unless we want a better look. Catch my drift?”

Hearing that from Tony, a mentor, a father figure, was just too much to handle. “Ok, so what about you and Cap?” Peter shot back, eager to switch the focus from Wade as fast as possible.

Tony frowned again, one eyebrow raised. “I'm definitely sure I haven’t made up a sonnet about his star-spangled butt cheeks, kid.”

Peter smirked, finally gaining some ground. “Your eyes do enough of that for you, trust me.”

The frown only twitched slightly, but Peter caught it all the same. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Peter rolled his eyes in a wide arc. “Come on, Tony. This whole knowing-each-other-too-well thing goes both ways. I don’t have to spell it out, do I? We both know how you feel about the guy.”

Tony made a sound like he was being strangled, and Peter had to bite his cheek to keep another smirk off his face. In truth, a blind person could see Tony had the hots for Steve. Natasha and Peter had a running joke of scratching their necks and pulling at their collars whenever Tony said or did something totally gross and transparent, like staring at the good captain’s ass as he walked past.

Clint was less kind about it: breaking out in full-on fits of laughter that were always made worse by Tony’s ears blushing or asking what was so funny.

“We aren’t talking about me,” Tony insisted; a little petulantly, Peter thought. “And besides, Cap is different.”

“Because he’s like eighty, or because he laughs at your jokes? I’m sure Wade would laugh at you more if he was, I don’t know…allowed inside the Tower on a regular basis…?”

“Yes, because we all want me to have to replace an entire floor of this place. Again.”

Peter winced. He’d heard stories about that one from Bruce. As nice as the doc was, not even he could have painted _that_ in a better light. “Ok, so maybe keep him with an escort when he’s on the premises.”

“Let me guess,” Tony drawled, “You nominate yourself for the honor?”

“Well I know him the best, not counting Logan. And Logan sure as all heck won’t take very well to you sticking him with Wade whenever he’s here. Plus, Logan’s in like, ten different teams now. He’s a busy guy.”

“Did you just say ‘ _all heck_ ’? Christ, kid, you need to stop spending so much time with Steve.”

“Why, so you can have him all to yourself?” Peter teased quickly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tony brandished the blowtorch at Peter, narrowing his eyes. “Ohh, sure, keep it coming, but you better make sure you can take what you dish out.”

“Ok, old man.”

“Old man?!” Tony exclaimed, aghast. His hand unconsciously went up to his greying temples, and for once, Peter’s sense of self-preservation took over and he didn’t call it out. Tony bounced back fast though, way past mastering the art of deflection at this point in his life. “You know, the more you keep changing the subject like this, the more awkward the conversation is going to be when I have to keep coming back around to it.”

“What conversation?”

“The one where you agree to pull your head out of the clouds, maybe?”

Peter huffed out another sigh. “Do you really have to exaggerate so much?”

“This, coming from the kid who just yesterday told me, and I quote, ‘ _I’m literally dying, Tony, this is the end. Aunt May is going to kill me. Just let Clint use me for target practice_ ’.”

Ok, so Tony may have a tiny point there.

“This is different,” Peter pressed on, regardless. “You could at least _try_ to be supportive.”

Peter knew he’d bitten himself in the ass as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back and pretend he hadn’t mean it. _Had_ he meant it? Huh. He shoved that thought away to avoid thinking about for the foreseeable future.

“Supportive of what? Of my protégée’s newest lapse in self-preservation?”

“But he’s getting better! He’s promised to try and stop all the killing, and I believe him.”

Mostly. Tony didn't need to know the specifics.

Tony scoffed. “Seriously, Pete, be realistic. That man is insane; clinically and certifiably. He’s not just dangerous, he’s a menace.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. “You shouldn’t get yourself tangled up with someone like him. It’s not good for you.”

The words were hot on the tip of Peter’s tongue – _You’re not my father_ – but he bit them back, kept them locked up tight in his chest because those words would _never_ leave his mouth again. Not ever. Not even if Tony was being a controlling idiot, not even if he was insinuating that Peter couldn’t make his own decisions. Not even if it was 100% true that Tony Stark wasn’t his father. And it was true – Tony _wasn’t_ Peter’s father; they weren’t even distantly related.

But those words were the last ones Peter ever said to Uncle Ben: right before he was murdered. Right before Ben was taken away from Peter and Aunt May for good; dying with the fresh memory of a selfish kid throwing everything Ben had ever given to him right back in his face.

Tony must have caught something in his expression, because his eyes went wide and he was pointing an accusing finger. “Oh, fuck no. Don’t let him get in your head, Peter. He’s living out his twisted, perverted fantasies. Don’t let that freak convince you he’s changing, because we’ve all been there done that with him. He’s a damn murdering menace, and he’ll drag you through the mud as soon as grin at you.”

There was a fire raging just behind Peter’s eyes and a hailstorm of words ready to fly out in defense of the man he had come to know and begun to respect. He wanted to rage at Tony, and a small part of him was angry because some of the things Tony was saying had crossed Peter’s mind too. Coming from Tony, though, they sounded like nothing more than bullshit.

But he remembered Uncle Ben. Tony was nothing like Ben, not even a little, but Peter cared about him in a similar way. Just similar enough to sting. He wanted nothing more than to lay a solid punch into Tony’s jaw, but he still remembered.

So instead, Peter shut it down.

He bottled all of it up and shoved it down as far as he could manage. His fists went limp and his shoulders sagged. He sighed and his face fell, losing that brief burst of anger in less than an instant.

He hated that he sounded so defeated as he said, “I can’t do this with you, Tony.” But his voice sounded firmer when he added a quick, “I’ll be here for the Avengers’ meeting tomorrow.”

Then Peter turned away before the confused look on Tony’s face could morph into hurt, because it would break Peter’s resolve entirely if he saw that. He couldn’t let Tony play the victim, not when it came to this.

“Peter, wait,” Tony called out, moving to stop him, the blowtorch falling, forgotten, at his feet.

But Peter didn’t stop. He kept walking until he got to the nearest balcony and jumped, swinging back to his apartment in Queens without a second glance.

\----

At least Peter _meant_ to head back to Queens.

Except that it wasn’t until he passed by the second taco truck in a row that he realized he wasn’t headed toward his own place at all.

It was Wade’s.

Before the rational side of his brain could take over, Peter slipped through the open window. _Really Wade?_ He thought absentmindedly, _anyone could have walked in here!_

Then again, walking in on Deadpool when the merc wasn’t expecting it was a death sentence to just about everyone but Peter. Thank all the gods for that, including Thor. Especially since it was partially due to the threat of Thor’s hammer smacking Wade out into space that had kept Peter un-unalive for so long.

_Un-unalive_? Had he seriously just thought that? Jesus. Maybe Tony wasn’t that far off when it came to the idea of Deadpool rubbing off on him…

But then there was Wade, standing in the middle of the living room in full gear, looking like he was seconds from heading out the door.

“Spidey!” he called out, throwing his arms out wide the second he saw Peter. “What a surprise, old buddy, old pal. You should have called ahead; I would have cleaned up the place a bit. Give her the old spit shine if you know what I’m…hey, why the long, red face?”

Was Peter going to have another heart to heart with Wade…? No. If he tried to start a serious conversation right now, Wade would probably fling himself right out the window Peter had just closed.

“I don’t know why I bother wearing this mask around here, it’s not like you haven’t already seen my face,” he said instead, sitting on the couch without asking if he was interrupting something. The way Peter saw it, Wade had interrupted him more than a few times without pause, so he could afford to repay the favor just this once.

Wade flopped down on the couch beside him. “To be totally fair, which I always am, I was more concerned with your many gaping, leaky wounds than snapping a mental pic of your face for future reference. I barely even remember your ugly mug.”

Peter snorted. “Sorry that not everyone has a healing factor that can literally bring them back from death.”

Wade snapped a pair of finger guns at him and smirked – or at least Peter _assumed_ he did, what with the mask in the way and only the stretching fabric in the mouth area to go by. “And don’t you forget it, hot stuff! In fact, continue complimenting my greatness! Yellow and Whitey don’t do it often enough to keep our ego happy. And let me tell you, _that_ bitch is moody.”

Peter just smiled, glad his mask hid his bemused expression as he looked at Wade a little too long. “You know, I think I’m lost during more than eighty-five percent of our conversations.”

“And that’s why I love ya, Spidey: most scrubs don’t make it past ten.”

“Logan?”

“That old grouch puss? He’s learned to tune me out. You’ll get there eventually.” Wade said it so matter-of-fact, kicking his feet up on the still-destroyed coffee table and resting his arms behind his head, that Peter suddenly worried Wade actually believed that garbage.

“No, I won’t.”

Wade didn’t look back at him, which was an action weird enough on its own, but adding that to the way he was picking at a sticker on his .45, Peter knew something was up. “You’re too smart not to, Man of Many Spiders. Now be quiet, Yellow is playing my song.”

Peter had to ask. “Hollaback Girl?”

“Funeral Dirge,” Wade supplied.

Peter’s mouth literally popped open. “Okay. Nope. I came here so you could cheer _me_ up. You’re horrible at this.”

Wade gasped, flailing about so dramatically he fell off the couch with a thud that sounded like it hurt. “How _dare_ you?!”

Peter bit his lip to keep from grinning, which was stupid because Wade couldn’t see his expression anyway. “Easily.”

“That’s it. Come, Spider-dweeb. I’m taking you out on the town!”

“No killing!” Peter said belatedly, scrambling to stay on his feet as Wade yanked him by his arm up and off the couch. He was physically (probably) a lot stronger than Wade (they hadn’t tested it yet), but he let himself be pulled along anyway.

\----

An hour later, Peter found himself sitting on the roof of a financial building with his feet dangling off the edge, eating a chimichanga. Wade had had other plans in mind, but Peter had refused to go hunting for hookers and blow, so they reverted to what they knew best: stuffing their faces with their masks halfway rolled up, judging the attire of passersby.

“Look at that one! No class! No style!” Deadpool hollered, spewing out bits of food and gesturing down at the businessman just exiting the building. “I wouldn’t use that two-bit suit to clean my bathroom floor.”

“You clean?” Peter asked, not bothering to mask his skepticism.

Wade paused, reconsidering. “If I _did_ clean, I wouldn’t use it!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “In no way do you, a guy who only owns Avengers themed underwear, know anything about what makes a good suit.”

“I resent that comment, and choose ignore it from here on out,” Wade sniffed in mock offense. Then he turned his head, scarred mouth smirking in a way that was anything but innocent. “But I do have some other kinds of lingerie too, play your cards right, Spidey, and maybe I’ll give you a peak.”

“I’ll pass,” Peter replied, chuckling. His face was suddenly too hot, and he tried convincing himself it was just because of the food, but that trick only worked so many times and over the past few months, and he’d gone way past the overused mark.

They were silent for a while, or what counted for silence with Wade, since he had started humming something that sounded vaguely like an out-of-tune ‘Hollaback Girl’.

Peter broke the calm the only way he knew how, by shooting himself in the foot. “Peter,” he blurted, too quickly for it to be natural. But if he would have said it any slower, he would have had time to reconsider and then he might never have said it at all.

Wade just stared at him. “Were we having a conversation and I totally blocked it all out? That happens, you know. Sometimes you get going on a science-y topic and my brain does everything it can to escape the learning.”

Peter knew that was an outright lie, but he didn’t call Wade out on it. He was doing a lot of that lately, watching what he said, and he felt like patting himself on the back. Even if he’d just done the exact opposite and blurted out his real name without thinking…well. Too late, now!

“My name, asshole. It’s Peter. Peter Parker.”

Wade just stared at him, the white lenses unmoving. That had never been creepy before, but somehow, now, it definitely was.

Peter sighed, fidgeted, and pulled his mask off the rest of the way. “Look, don’t make it weird, I just wanted you to know, and I couldn’t think of a cool way to drop it into conversation. You know, like how James Bond does it all suave and stuff. I don’t know. That’s just my name. Now you know it. There you go. We’re even.” He was rambling, he knew it, but it was nigh impossible to stop the floodgates once they were brutally kicked open.

Luckily, Wade was pretty much the same. “You’re not even kinda cool, Webs, not even close. There’s cool and then ten million steps down, straight past Go without collecting two hundred dollars, wave bye-bye to the devil – you’re still going down – then eventually there’s you, somewhere next to Keith Urban and Tumblr.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mumbled, absolutely not pouting. He’d expected some sort of surprise on Deadpool’s part, maybe a bit of gratitude for the display of trust, _something_ , but nope. That just wasn’t Wade’s style.

“Peter, huh?” Wade mused. “Peter Parker picked a peck of pickled peppers,” he sang, swinging his feet to the rhythm of his horrifically off key tune.

“Ok, screw you, Wade,” Peter mumbled, swatting blindly at the idiot. Strangely enough, Peter didn’t regret telling him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe that would come later, like after Tony found out about this and the man gave himself an aneurysm. 

“You wanted to tell me?” Wade asked suddenly, pulling a complete one-eighty in the tone of the conversation. “Why the hell would you do that, Petey? Aren’t you worried I’m gonna sell off your soul to whichever devil bids the highest like Daddy Stark thinks I will?”

Something in Peter snapped at hearing that, and all the bottled up emotion left over from the earlier fight with Tony came rushing to the surface in waves. “You’ve got to be _kidding_ me.” Peter honestly couldn’t believe it. He got up on his feet and yanked the mask right back down over his head. “I’ll see you later Wade, I’ve got stuff to do.”

He didn’t want to yell at Wade – ok, yeah, maybe he did want to yell at Wade a little. Why the heck couldn’t he just accept the fact that Peter didn’t completely hate his guts and move on? Hadn’t they gotten to the trusting part of their friendship already? Peter obviously had, like Nat had said; he wouldn’t have told Wade his name if he didn’t trust the guy. But it still stung worse than Peter was willing to admit that Wade just as obviously didn’t trust _him_.

“Woah there, Tiger! Warn a guy before the mood swings hit, huh?” Wade called out, catching up with Peter just as he was about to jump off the roof, a hand grabbing for his shoulder.

Peter shoved him off. “Not tonight, Wade. I’m not in the mood.”

“For what?! I know I’m not one to talk when it comes to saying things don’t make sense, but I really think you’re comin’ outa left field with whatever this is, baby boy.”

In retrospect, it was probably the light touch of Wade’s hand on his shoulder that did Peter in.

Wade touched Peter all the time, literally any moment that Peter let him get away with it. But this time was different. Wade didn’t do lots of serious emotion; it was part of the reason for why Peter had started hanging out with him in the first place – especially since all the other Avengers had started getting all touchy-feely. But now that dumb hand was cupping Peter’s shoulder in a gesture of support that was almost hesitant, and it was too much for one guy to handle, all over again.

Peter _really_ needed to get his shit together, he realized. Or rather, he needed to get that feeling in the pit of his stomach under control before he did something really stupid and fucked all of this up.

“I know,” Peter sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m the one being weird.”

Wade hadn’t pulled up his mask yet, and so Peter could see the deep frown he was now sporting. “Who do I need to unalive? Give me a name.”

Peter shucked off his mask again to run his hands over his face and through his hair. It was probably fine to have this conversation here; it was a rooftop in the city in the middle of night. Who would even see them?

“No one,” Peter sighed. “Leave everyone just as alive as they are, please.”

“No, no-no. Nuh-uh. Someone did this. Someone made you all…” Wade motioned with his free hand up and around Peter’s face. “Like _that_. That’s no bueno, muchacho. No one is allowed to upset you but me, capiche?”

“You _do_ do a pretty good job of that sometimes,” Peter teased, but it didn’t have the desired effect. Wade was still frowning, even though the tone of his voice was still falsely light hearted, as if he had forgotten Peter could see his expression.

“Exactly!” Wade said. He almost sounded pleased, but the inflection of the statement was off, enough so that it set Peter on edge. Nat had talked a bit about the files that SHEILD had on Deadpool before, and about the eerie calm before every single one of his worst shit-storm episodes, and the piles and piles of bodies left in his wake, afterward. Peter hoped that wasn’t what this was.

“Spill all your little spider guts,” Wade insisted again, “lemme have it.”

“If you’re going to proposition me, Wade, it’ll take more than half a chimichanga and humming some Gwen Stephani.”

Wade’s mouth fell open a little, then he shook his head. “You’re trying to throw me off the scent with your sexy personality!” he accused. He got up in Peter’s space again, taking another step forward. Peter did everything in his power to force his eyes to _not_ fall down to Wade’s mouth. Instead, he focused intently on the stitch between the man’s eyes, where Wade had sewn the mask up from the last time he’d been shot at.

So, Peter did what he did best, and hid behind jokes with a sly grin on his face. “Is it working?”

“Yes! No! Stop cheating!” Wade pulled his mask the rest of the way down, taking away at least half of Peter’s temptation. Peter was a little grateful for that, and a little disappointed, too.

“I’m not cheating, Wade. Come on, let me go.”

“Just tell ol’ Deadpool what happened, and you can be on your merry, totally-not-jail-bait way.”

“I’m twenty-two!” Peter exclaimed, voice cracking despite every cell in his being praying for the opposite.

“Good to know!” Wade yelled back. Were they fighting? Did this count as a fight? Luckily, Peter didn’t have to wonder too much before Wade put his other hand to Peter’s other shoulder, forcing him to stare right into the eyeholes of the mask. “Was it Tony? Was that why you got so pissy after the ‘daddy’ bit?”

Peter went silent.

“HA! I’m right!” Wade cheered, before catching on to Peter’s expression. “Oh. That’s probably not so great for you, huh?”

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. Was there a reasonable point to not telling Wade? Probably. But there was a solid argument for telling him, too, and Peter went with that option before he could fill up the ‘don't tell’ list too high.

“Tony forgets sometimes that he can’t order me around in my personal life the way he does in the field,” Peter said simply, hoping that would be enough. Of course, it wasn’t.

“He tell you to pee standing up for a change?”

“What? No! I already do…oh, shut up. He told me to stay away from you, that you’re no good for me, and you’ll probably get me killed, or worse. And I…basically told him to shove it.”

Wade’s hands fell from Peter’s shoulders. “Why would you do a thing like that?” he asked, his voice sounding near lifeless. Peter panicked, knowing that tone better than he wished he did. Wade was in one of his ‘ _I’m terrible, awful, not worth saving_ ’ mood and suddenly Peter realized _this_ was the reason he should have kept his fat trap shut. Those boxes of Wade’s were probably saying the worst kind of garbage imaginable, and this time it was Peter’s fault.

He stepped forward when Wade stepped back, and they repeated the motion twice, kind of like a little dance, and it was so stupid that Peter almost joked about it. Almost.

“We’re friends, Wade. I’m not ditching you just because Tony’s got an inflated ego. If I made every decision based on Tony, I’d probably be living in the Tower and driving a Mercedes or a Ferrari with the Stark logo stamped all over it to work every day.”

That was the wrong thing to say, and Peter knew it the second it came out of his mouth, but by then it was too late to take it back.

“He’s your _family_ , Peter, you should take his advice.”

“Okay, and what are you then, chopped liver?”

A choking sound came from Wade’s throat and he turned away before rounding back on Peter, the eyeholes of his mask narrowing angrily as he shouted, “I’m a KILLER. I kill. It’s fun, and I do it for money; no matter who’s paying, no matter whose name is on the list. You’re a smart kid, and we both know that the smartest thing you can do is to get the FUCK away from me.”

Peter flinched back involuntarily when Wade spat out that curse. The wrong thing to do, yet again.

Deadpool, and there was hardly any _Wade_ in him then, kept coming at Peter, flinging words meant to cut as he grinned mercilessly. “Run back home to daddy. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’ll never see that fucking disgusting, son of a bitch Deadpool again. Ha! Look at you! You’re afraid,” he laughed, a cruel cold sound that felt like ringing in Peter’s ears. “You haven’t even seen my whole _face_ yet, and you’re afraid already! You can’t take being friends with a thing like me, you haven’t got the stomach for it, Spiderman. You’re _weak_ , and you always will be.”

Peter was speechless. Speechless and hurt. Maybe that was why he did it.

“Screw you, Wilson.”

“Run, _Peter_ , you’ve always been pretty good at that, haven’t you?” The way Wade said it made his meaning as obvious as a blow to the stomach.

Peter had told him about Uncle Ben, and about Gwen Stacy and her father just weeks ago. All without using their names of course, but still. He had told Wade how afraid he’d been. How he’d run from it all in the beginning. That painful bit of honesty had been the first time Peter remembered fully trusting Wade. The first time he had felt his heart kick up in his chest when Wade smiled at him, too. And now, Peter felt his stupid heart drop like a weight.

Peter’s fist went flying before he knew what he was doing, acting on sheer instinct and raw emotion.

It hit with a sick, sharp crack to Wade’s jaw.

Deadpool was only startled for a moment, then he swung back. Peter dodged out of reach, but got hit by a second blow on the way up. Deadpool shoved Peter back, knocking him on his feet and pulling out a gun in a move so fast it was no wonder all the crime bosses in the city steered as far away from the mercenary as they could. People forgot, amongst all the wise cracks and the vulgarity and the madness, that Wade Wilson was a trained killer. One of the best there was – he would probably be number one if it weren’t for the fact he was certifiably insane, as Tony liked to put it.

Peter forgot that sometimes, too. Not now.

Wade sucked in air like a dying man as he trained the gun to Peter’s head, his hand as steady as stone against the trigger.

_What the fuck. Whatthefuckwhatthefuck_. Peter’s head felt like it should be spinning, but because of his heightened senses he took in every detail. He knew he could web the gun away, blind Wade, do _something_ to get himself out of his current position, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gun. Couldn’t makes his hands move to defend himself. Wade had a loaded _gun_ pointed at him, and he wasn’t making any move to put it away.

Then there was wetness on Peter’s upper lip, a little steam of blood coming from his own nose, and Peter shook off the shock. He narrowed his eyes, giving Wade a hard look.

“You do this to everyone dumb enough to give a shit about you, Wade, or is it just the blind old ladies who don’t get to escape?”

The gun faltered. “You’re bleeding…”

“That happens when you pop a blood vessel in someone’s nose with your fist,” Peter deadpanned.

Wade clicked the safety back on and holstered the gun quickly, but by the time he looked back up, Peter was gone.

\-----

WADE

[Holy shit did we just tell Spidey to go fuck himself and mean it in the totally-not-fun way?]

{Man, and here I thought we were a steaming pile of garbage before!}

“Fuck him,” Wade growled at the boxes, knowing better than to try and shut them up by asking nicely. What was the point, anyway? There was no one hanging around the apartment to complain about him talking to himself, now.

[Yeah, no one’s around because you took his heart and goomba-stomped it to oblivion.]

{Right when we find out his name is Peter, too! So much good material down the drain.}

[At least now there’s no point in washing the gloves anymore, who the fuck else would let something like _us_ touch them?]

{Good-bye human contact, we hardly knew ye…}

Wade drained the last of Logan’s stolen beer and flung the bottle at the wall, listening to the satisfying smash of the glass against brick.

Doing the right thing sucked. None of those wide eyes heroes cared to mention _that_ when they told Deadpool how important it was to be a good person. Good was overrated. Good was useless. Here he sat, feeling lower than shit, knowing he had just tossed his one chance at making something meaningful out of his life into a meat grinder and turned it on full blast. All because he’d felt the need to do what was best for someone else. It was bullshit.

He knew it couldn’t have lasted, that happy feeling he had with Peter. That tiny bit of hope he’d felt that had painstakingly crawled its way up from the forgotten corners of Wade’s head just to disappear faster than Barry Allen.

[Wrong universe, shithead.]

Happiness was for other assholes.

But Peter was one of those assholes, and if Wade could only do one fucking half-way decent thing, it was going to be making sure Peter had his chance to find it. Peter… Fuck. Whitey was right. There were so many golden nicknames for a name like Peter. And a name like that fit the guy annoyingly well, too. Cute and nerdy and FUCK. It wasn’t fair. He smashed another bottle, this one full.

“That’s it. No more moping. I’d rather lick a dog’s asshole than end up like Cap, brooding over the past until all my friends are dead.”

 [Aw, that’s cute. He thinks he has friends.]

{‘ _Friends’._ }

“Screw Peter Parker and his adorable – no, _stupid_ – alliterative name! I do have other friends!”

[Name three.]

“Who the fuck needs three whole friends? That’s just greedy…Logan! HA! Haven’t talked to Logey-bear in a while, better go see what he’s up to.”

[So we can move the plot along before the author takes up drinking, you mean.]

{Oooh we’re _so_ gonna get maimed!}

\----

 

PETER

The next Avenger’s meeting went by in a blur. Peter heard his assigned location for the alien stakeout but nothing more. Was it even aliens, this time? Did it matter? Not really.

It was bad to zone out like this, definitely disrespectful, but he couldn’t help it. His best friend had aimed a gun at him and said…nothing that was untrue. No, screw that. It _was_ untrue. Or at least Peter was going to convince himself that it was.

As soon as Carol gave the dismissal and Fury’s Skype call clicked off, Peter was up and out of the room. He vaguely heard his name being called, but not by Captain Marvel herself (who was leading the team in Steve’s absence), so Peter didn’t feel obligated to listen. He had avoided Tony’s gaze like a pro all throughout the meeting, and only felt a little bit like an ass for it. He wasn’t in the mood to brush everything under the rug just yet, like Tony always did with his problems.

Oh, Pepper moved out? _Who wants chicken for dinner?_

Pepper signed on as the CEO of the European division of Stark Industries and is now living in France with another man? _Time to show Cap and Thor the glory of_ Die Hard!

The behavior was so commonplace for Tony that even Peter, the newest member, knew exactly what to expect, including the way the team would subtly agree to just go along with it and pretend it was all totally normal. Not even Cap called Tony out on it anymore, according to Natasha. Or at least if he did, he didn’t do it in front of everyone.

So, Peter knew Tony was planning on doing the exact same thing with him. The jerk had even flashed a grin at Peter when he’d sat down at the start of Carol’s opening pep-talk, and Peter had only _just_ stopped himself from throwing his hands in the air and walking out. Maybe he could pretend nothing happened tomorrow, after he’d slept a little more and sent a few low-lives to jail.

Plus, he still had a couple more shots to take of Spiderman before work the next day, and now that he didn’t have Wade helping him out it would take longer than it had the past few weeks.

Peter frowned. It had been just under twenty-four hours, and he already missed Wade. How pathetic was that?

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end to the pathetic-ness of it all.

Peter, feeling like the world’s clingiest ex-boyfriend, found himself perched on the rooftop opposite Wade’s apartment after his sweep of the city. He told himself he was just stopping by because the neighborhood was crappy and there would undoubtedly be some crime to stop – but of course, since Peter was the luckiest person on the planet, there wasn’t so much as a kid stealing a candy bar.

He sat there, staring at a Wade-less apartment and… what was he waiting for? For Wade to show up?

Yes. That was exactly what he was doing.

He wanted to pull a Tony and pretend that last night didn’t happen. He wanted Wade to toss him a taco and snap at his boxes while they played videogames and talked about absolutely nothing for hours on end.

He wanted Wade to apologize, too, but hell would freeze over before that ever happened.

Peter was still pissed off, still wanted to slap Wade for being so stupid and defensive and for not trusting that Peter _wasn’t_ going to run in fear or toss him aside like yesterday’s news once some other hero started looking more interesting.

But Peter had run, just a little, hadn’t he? Then again, Wade had almost _shot_ him right before that, and thrown the past back in Peter’s face because Wade knew it would hurt.

Logistically, he knew Wade was a fucked up human being. Wade hurt the things he feared might hurt him back if they got too close and kept everything else at arm’s length. Peter understood that on a basic, scientific level. It was a pattern of behavior that was far more common than anyone ever liked to admit, especially in people with a history of abuse. And from the way Wade had alluded to his father and his life before the cancer, there had been some pretty hellish stuff going on in the Wilson family home to say the least. Not to mention everything with Weapon X and all the psychotics Wade had met in between.

But Wade had been _changing_! He’d been making progress on the whole “killing people is bad” concept, and Peter could have sworn that the mercenary had been opening up more and more every time they hung out. He’d been seeing the real Wade, and he’d liked what he saw.

Liked it.

More than liked it.

Crap.


	2. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal returns, Nat steps up her guilt laying game, and we get our action sequence out of the way just in time for feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (listen to Act of Kindness guys and cry with me)
> 
> -Very, very brief depiction of symptoms/effects of past trauma (and/or mental illness) after the first break. Exact traumas are left ambiguous, but there is a short bout of mild panic on Wade's part.   
> -Dubious Science warning comes in to play as well, whoops! To be fair, I've read even more poorly explained sequences in actual comics. At least I'm On Brand.

 

> “Back’s up against the wall
> 
> I feel guilty, I feel guilty
> 
> And you want nothing in return
> 
> I feel guilty, I feel guilty”
> 
> ~Act of Kindness – Bastille

 

PETER

He saw Wade leaning against the brick wall of an alley way four weeks later.

For a moment, he didn’t approach, just sat hidden high above, watching. Despite the fight and the punch and the gun, Peter’s heart picked up pace at the sight of that stupid, just-different-enough-to-escape-trademark-laws, red suit. Despite still being a little pissed off at not only the fight, but also at the way Wade had completely avoided him for four weeks straight, Peter felt a small weight lift off his shoulders.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’d been worried.

Healing factor or no, Wade was reckless and dangerous to himself above all else when he got emotional. Although Peter highly doubted Wade had similar feelings to the ones he himself had been questioning (read: suppressing) lately, he didn’t doubt, even for a second, that Wade cared. Wade just expressed emotions differently than other people.

The fight between them had probaby hit home for Wade, too, not just Peter. Hence the avoidance streak.

And now here the merc was, bleeding out while his skin stitched itself back together all alone in a deserted corner of the city, next to the most putrid dumpster Peter had smelled in his entire life.

And all Peter wanted to do was hug the guy.

Peter was supposed to be the _sane_ one, for crying out loud. They hadn’t even spoken in weeks, what was he expecting?

He was expecting to brush it under the rug and go back to normal, that was what.

“Are you going to brood up there forever or are you going to yell at me now and get this over with?” Wade called up after about a minute, looking directly at Peter.

Peter gaped from behind his mask. “How did you see me?”

“Uh. Hello? World Class Mercenary?”

“Bit of a stretch don’t you think?” Peter called back, not moving an inch away from his perch. He had a lump in his throat that he could mask so long as he could yell down, but that Wade would surely catch if he got any closer.

  _What happened to getting your feelings under control, Pete?_

Wade fake-gasped, “How dare you, Spiderman.” He clasped his hand to his side as more blood leaked out in a steady, mildly concerning stream. “That’ll be the bullet being pushed out of my spleen. Come to finish the job and rid the world of one more mercenary? Better do it now and save my body the trouble of healing itself back up for nothing.”

Peter frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I would never.” Wade coughed up a laugh and Peter drew closer, finally dropping from his vantage point to stand a dumpster’s length away. “That’s more your thing, isn’t it?” Peter said, unable to keep the bite from his words. Maybe he was a bit more pissed off than he realized.

Wade paused, then the white eyes of his mask narrowed. “Funny.” Peter didn’t doubt Wade was mentally replaying the fight now, too.

“I thought so," Peter stated, none too kind. "Why’d you come back?”

“How did you know I was gone? Been checking up on me?”

“Yes,” Peter answered simply, seeing no reason to lie.

That threw Wade off. He cocked his head to the side and Peter did _not_ find the motion endearing.  “Watching your back?” Wade asked, and suddenly that endeared feeling disappeared like magic.

“Fool me once…” Peter trailed off, letting the metaphor hang in the air unfinished.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Peter folded his arms. “You pointed a gun to my head. What did you expect?” Now _there_ was the lie.

Wade was on his feet in the next instant, apparently more healed then he had let on, and Peter tried to not feel offended. Since when was Wade worried about having the strategical advantage against Peter?

“Oh, that’s right,” Wade drawled, his voice like bitter velvet. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“If your memory is so bad, why’d you leave town so fast? Why have you been avoiding me, huh? Those aren’t the actions of a man who doesn’t give a shit, like you’re pretending to.”

“Maybe they’re the actions of a man who wants to be left the fuck alone. Ever think of that, Spider-boy?” Peter had, in fact, thought of that very possibility. But he wasn’t about to go admitting that now. He did have a little pride left in him, after all.

“Really?” Peter challenged. “Why are you still standing here, then?”

He’d gotten closer. Peter couldn’t remember which one of them had taken the first step, though. It might have been Wade. Maybe himself. It could have been both.

“We are having a conversation and I’ve been told it’s rude to just walk away during one of those.”

“The boxes tell you to drop me like a sack of potatoes, too? They don’t make you do anything, Wade. The actions are yours, and yours alone.”

“What the hell do you know about me, Spiderman?” Wade snarled. They were close now, just inches apart, getting in each other’s face, blowing hot air.

Peter wanted to yell, he wanted to hit, he wanted to…

Peter pulled Wade’s face closer with a hand around the back of Wade’s neck. If they were mask-less, he would have kissed him. He wanted to. He wanted to kiss Wade Wilson so badly it hurt. He could hear, rather than feel, the puffs of air coming from Wade’s mouth, and he wondered – not for the first time – what it would be like to…

Instead, Peter kept their faces as close as possible without touching. “I do know you,” Peter said. It felt intimate. It felt dangerous. Wade still hadn’t moved. “I know you, even if you think I don’t, and I don’t hate you, even if you think I do. You stabbed me right in the chest, Wade, and yet here I am. Still standing.”

“You ran,” Wade answered, his voice little more than a rasp.

It didn’t hurt so much to admit he was wrong when Wade was standing here in front of him. When he had his hand on Wade’s neck to make sure Wade wouldn’t disappear... Oh. That was unexpected. More thoughts to file away to examine never.

“I came back,” Peter countered, after a pause. “You were gone.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Peter knew that was a kind of admission very few people ever got from Wade, but it didn’t feel much like the victory he’d thought it might. “I did,” Peter said, almost challenging again, but this time he wasn’t trying to be. That wasn’t what he wanted to do – Peter wanted to reassure Wade in the same way _he_ wanted to be reassured. “I’d do it again, too, but it would be nice if it didn’t come to that.”

Their faces were close enough that Peter could see the barest outline of the smile underneath Wade’s mask. It made him crazy. It made him want to set the whole alley on fire. Or at least these masks.

Then the smile-outline vanished, and Peter felt the muscles in Wade’s neck stiffen. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

“Maybe that’s bullshit, too.”

“You kiss your aunt with that mouth?”

_Kiss_.

That wasn’t the word Peter should have been zeroing in on, but he did, all the same. It was like Wade wanted Peter to spontaneously combust. But Peter knew exactly what Wade was doing: deflecting, avoiding, changing the subject. He was afraid. Peter was too, but he knew better this time. He hoped he knew better this time.

“You came back.” It was supposed to be a question, but it came out more like a declaration.

“I’m selfish, P-Spidey.”

“Peter,” Peter whispered, both correcting and giving permission in one word. Forgiving him. If Peter looked a little harder inside himself, he would have realized he’d forgiven Wade a while ago. But Wade still hadn’t pulled away, and Peter’s hand was still holding the back of his neck, their faces were still close. Taking a hard look inside himself was not on the immediate agenda. “Why did you come back?”

Wade was silent, and that made Peter more nervous than anything else. He moved then, for the first time, putting a hand to Peter’s forearm. “Like I said; I’m selfish.”

“That’s a crappy answer.”

“It’s the one you’ve got.”

Peter understood what Wade meant, and the words he didn’t say, the words he left up in the air so they couldn’t hurt. _If you’ll have me._ It made every nerve ending on Peter’s body feel oversensitive, the hand on his arm the most important thing in the world.

The immediate  _yes_ got caught in his throat on the way out. They hadn’t talked enough. There were still things that needed to be said and dealt with, that much Peter was certain of.

Then police sirens went off, and Peter jerked back, spinning around to face the direction they were coming from. He felt that familiar prickling under his skin, and knew he had to go. Peter turned back quickly to face Wade again. He swallowed down that _yes_ , and pulled a grin that was less confident than he wanted it to be. “If you feel like sticking around a while longer, I’ll can probably be there by quarter to one.”

Partially because he didn’t have time to say anything more, and partially because he was a little too afraid to wait and hear Wade’s response, Peter shot out his webs and went off swinging towards danger.

\----

WADE

It was 12:30 AM and Wade hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d gotten back to his apartment. In around fifteen minutes, Peter would either be there or he wouldn’t.

[Sound logic, good job.]

{He ain’t gonna show. Let’s be real; we probably imagined that whole scene in the alley. There’s no way someone like you is allowed to have something that.}

[And, even if Petey is stupid enough not to realize it, he’ll run for the hills the second you take off that mask.]

Every cell on his body itched and it wasn’t just from the healing factor. He felt too small, he felt too big. The room was too cramped, and not cramped enough. The world was _too much_.

But he didn’t _have_ to take off the mask. Did he? No. He didn’t. Peter hadn’t asked him to in the alley, when Wade had been sure he would. He’d frozen, scared out of his mind that Petey would ask and Wade would be forced to…but no. Peter hadn’t asked. It was fine. Everything would be fine.

But _fuck_ Wade had wanted to kiss him, anyway. Peter had pulled him close and Wade had just about lost all his shit at once. Then Peter had kept that bit of distance between them and Wade had wanted nothing more than to close it for good. He’d wanted…

_God fucking dammit_.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Peter was supposed to hate him. Peter was supposed to spit in his face so Wade could laugh it off with a quip and a strut. He understood situations like that. He’d earned that response, pulling a gun on the guy, punching him in the face, skipping town and avoiding Peter like the plague… it was all enough to warrant a solid and definite end to their friendship.

What he didn’t understand was Peter. Peter’s goodness, his kindness, all his stupid understanding and gentle behavior, even when Peter had every right in the god damn universe to be angry and throw punches. He didn't understand the way Peter had stopped and spoken to Wade like he meant something to him. Like Peter wanted…

Oh.

_Oh_ , that was it.

Peter wanted something from him.

That was what all this was about. That was why Peter had been kind, and funny, and kept coming around even though Wade had treated him like absolute shit and never given anything substantial in return. Wade could deal with that, he understood that kind of thing.

{That’s all you’re worth, anyway.}

He’d find out what Peter wanted, and that would be that. Once Wade had figured that out, it made the waiting easier. It didn’t completely soothe the tightness in his skin, or the relentless stream the boxes were spewing in his head, but the knowledge made it easier to ignore.

Peter landed silently on Wade's balcony at 12:47. Wade had gone out and gotten a clock right after Peter had left the alley just so he’d know exactly when to be ready. Peter came through the open window, wincing as he did. There was a bloody tear through his left upper arm, but it wasn’t too deep, just messy.

“I’m making a habit of bleeding all over your floor, huh?”

\----

PETER

Wade scoffed, and flopped down on the couch as if Peter hadn’t seen him jump to his feet the moment he saw Peter in the window.

“I’ll send you a bill.”

“Yeah, go ahead. And then you can expect the check to bounce like rubber.” Peter didn’t know whether he should sit, but Wade looked like he was making himself comfortable, so he took a seat at the farthest point possible on the couch. He saw Wade glance at the space between them for a split second, but Wade said nothing.

Not for the first time, Peter wondered what he was going to say, or how he was supposed to start. When he’d told Wade that he’d be coming by, he had only been thinking that they couldn’t end the conversation like that. But now? When they actually had time to talk? Peter was at a total loss.

“Play any good games while you were away?” he asked, stupidly. He wiped carefully at his cut with the sterilized wipes he had left by the couch the last time he was here. Peter shouldn’t have been surprised Wade had left them while he was running off, murdering people, considering Wade hardly ever tidied up anything in his life.

But Wade didn’t make fun of him for the lame opener, so there was that.

Wade only snorted. “Unaliving some baddies with Logan is definitely fun, but I wouldn’t call it a game unless you want three Adamantium stab wounds through your chest. And before you say it, Mr. Hero, we had no other option. It was a total last resort. Plus, most of them were robots anyway, so unless you want to get all Ex-Machina on me, they don’t count.”

Peter groaned, letting his shoulders slump. “Does Cap know Logan was involved?” The last thing Peter wanted to deal with was having to mediate _again_ between Wade and Cap, which really meant Wade and the Avengers as a whole. Peter had only been stopping by the Tower when he had no other choice for the past few weeks, but if Wade and Logan had murdered a bunch of people while on mission and _not_ informed Steve…

“Probably, by now. Wolvie was headed to that eyesore of a tower, so I’m sure he’s getting an earful right about…now,” Wade decided, waving a finger in the air like he was picking out the precise moment Logan was getting lectured to kingdom come.

“Eyesore?” Peter repeated, aghast. “That building is a technological marvel! The glass on the windows alone…” Wade started laughing, and only then did Peter realize Wade had been teasing. “Oh, shut up, you ass.”

“There’s that mouth again! I go away for a little while, and you’ve gone full on sailor on me, Petey.”

There was a retort right on the tip of his tongue, but the nickname made him stumble. Again. It was just a stupid name, not even a clever one, but the way Wade said the word made it different. Wade made everything different.

“Are we gonna sit here the whole night and pretend nothing is weird?” Peter asked, finally, willing the bubble in his chest into submission. It half-worked, so that was something, at least.

“Straight and to the point. Wow, I hate you heroes.”

Peter turned so that Wade could get the full effect of his eyebrow raise. “You know you’re kinda one of us, right?”

“Only kinda, though. There’re a difference. I hear the cool kids are calling it ‘anti-hero’.”

“Wade.”

“Peter,” Wade mimicked in a way higher pitch than Peter thought was justified.

He let out a puff of air, setting aside the wipes and letting the little insult slide. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Easy's not my style.”

_No kidding…_ Peter pulled off his mask, letting his hair fall forward as he wrung the fabric between his hands, elbows balanced on knees. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just taken it off immediately, like he usually did, but gave his hands something to do. Wade had gone quiet again. Peter knew Wade was only waiting on him to say something and not preparing to deliver a mortal blow, but the tension was starting to eat at his insides, regardless.

“I’m sorry,” Peter admitted, swallowing the last of his stubborn pride. “For my part in it, anyway. I shouldn’t have swung at you, that was inexcusable. And I shouldn’t have just run off the first chance I got, either.”

“You didn’t, though. Not the first chance,” Wade corrected quietly, almost to himself. To be fair, Wade very well could have been talking to himself and it would have felt more normal than anything else had over the past few weeks. Had Peter missed _that_ about him, too? The crazy, talking to boxes, half-neurotic side to Wade?

Peter looked over at him, taking in the tense line in Wade’s shoulders and the way his hands were balled into fists despite the way he was pretending to be stretched out, completely relaxed on the couch, and realized; yes, he had. “Doesn’t really make up for screwing up the second time though, does it?”

Wade looked back, and shifted his body to face Peter. The tension that had been visible in his shoulders now continued all down his arms as he had them bent and stiff at his sides. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. I knew what I was doing, saying all that crap to get a reaction, I knew. I had it coming.”

Peter’s mouth popped open, and he blinked back incredulously. “Uh, no? No, you didn’t. You deserved a good yelling match maybe, and maybe me leaving the rooftop was justified, but you didn’t deserve to get _hit_ for it. Jesus, Wade, come on.”

“I pushed at you, flung your bad shit back in your face, and what? I should have expected you to just take it?”

“No! That’s not…” Peter made a frustrated sound and stood up, shoving his hand into his hair. He started pacing but Wade just sat there, watching, and somehow that was worse. “It’s never happening again. I can promise you that.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Wade said, _almost_ nonchalantly, _almost_ like a joke. But there was a slight hesitancy mixed in there that killed the levity entirely, and set that plummeting feeling right back into Peter’s stomach.

Peter crumpled. His hands fell to his sides and he could have screamed into the void for eternity, right then and there, because _how stupid was he_? Everything he knew about Wade, and _that_ was what had slipped his mind. Wade's history. And Peter had hit him, _actually_ hit him, first, and not in self-defense. And Wade _expected_ it! And Peter had completely forgotten.

He felt like falling to his knees, screaming, begging, running, running _, running_ until he couldn’t stop – and all the while Wade was just sitting there, uncomprehending.

Peter scrambled for the words that would make him understand. “You hurt me, Wade. Up on that stupid roof, and then when you left town, you were breaking my stupid heart. But it wasn’t only about you. It was about Tony, about me, it was about everything bad that’s ever happened. You hurt me, and so I hurt you back, and that so _fucked up,_ I don’t even know!”

Peter was growing semi-hysterical as he started back to pacing, one hand tugging at his hair and the other held out like he was physically reaching for the logic and reason he was trying so desperately to find.

“Tony and Cap pull this sort of crap too,” he continued, “and they’re probably close to the most fucked up, totally-not-a-couple, couple I know. Solving arguments with fists and money and manipulation isn’t normal – it’s just fucked up! It’s so fucked up that I can’t stop saying the f-word! Aunt May would fucking kill me… _fuck_. Fuck!”

Was this what having a mental breakdown was like? Was he cracking? Clint would probably say it was about time…

“Woah there, baby boy, this thing only works if one of us is freaking out at a time, and I think it’s my turn,” Wade said, weirdly gentle. Wade had stood up at some point during Peter’s crisis, and come around to stand in front of him, forcing Peter to stop pacing like a crazy person. Hell, he really was coming unhinged if he hadn't even noticed.

Wade’s hands came up to bracket Peter’s shoulders, and Peter thought he just might die all over again.

“You had your moment, already. Plenty of them. Share the lime-light once in a while,” Peter joked, knowing his voice wasn’t even half-way to convincing.

“Peter,” Wade started, looking him dead in the eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. This talking people down thing – talking _me_ down most of the time – that’s your deal. I’m probably going to make things worse by trying, you know.”

“You don’t make things worse Wade.”

“I did that night.”

Peter couldn’t truthfully deny that one. Wade had initially tried to help, Peter knew, but the result had been…well. It was the reason they were here, wasn’t it? “You don’t _always_ make things worse,” he amended, and he meant it.

“Let’s make a deal, yeah? Lying, bad. Don’t do it.”

“I’m not lying,” Peter insisted, proud of the firmness that had somehow found its way back into his voice. “And since we’re agreeing to no lying; why did you go off on me that night in the first place? It felt like it came out of nowhere.”

He felt Wade stiffen, the tight grip of his hands freezing over Peter’s arms. “Because I’m a nut-job,” Wade said in a stiff, flat voice. Peter didn’t need a spider-sense to pick up on that warning sign.

“We said no lying, remember? Evasion is pretty darn close to lying.”

“Close, but no cigar,” Wade teased back, wiggling his head side-to-side like this was all hilarious, but Peter knew how to tell the difference between Deflecting-Wade and the real Wade, now.

But in truth, he was too tired to fight Wade about this. He was sick of fighting with Wade in general. “Fine, don’t tell me, but if I can’t bullshit you, then you don’t get to bullshit me either. Deal?”

Wade scoffed, turning his head to the side and taking a step back. The warm hands dropped away from Peter's arms and the sudden feeling of loss was almost enough to make Peter put Wade’s stupid hands right back on. He thought for a split second that Wade would walk out, but then Wade started talking again and stopped moving.

“You shouldn’t be my friend, Peter. Nothing good for you can come out of having yourself tied in any way to shit like me. It’ll wreck you. I’ve seen it happen. Logan has too, why do you think that asshole knows how to keep such a wide fucking berth from the splash zone of my life? You can apologize for throwing that punch, but I was throwing them first, and I knew it. I wanted you to run. I _wanted_ you to hate me.” He laughed stiffly. “But you never do what I think you’re going to do, do you? Maybe that is predictable though, since you keep coming back to shit that’s bad for you like some sort of glutton for punishment. Or a masochist.”

“If that’s true, why did you come back?” Peter asked, hating, _hating_ how weak his voice sounded. If Wade really wanted him gone, honestly wanted it, Peter couldn’t push it. He wouldn’t do that. And that made him ache, because it made him think about actually saying goodbye to Wade Wilson.

“I’m selfish. I told you that, Petey.”

“I know, but I really don’t understand what you mean by that…”

Wade groaned, cutting Peter off. He threw his palm against his forehead and paced back and forth a few times, then rounded on Peter again, speaking almost too quickly for Peter to catch. “I skipped town, saw Logan, and picked up that murder job, because I needed to get away from you.”

Peter flinched slightly, and he was suddenly really damn grateful that he wasn’t an easy crier because if he had cried before, while he was freaking out at himself, and then Wade had said _that,_ Peter would have looked even more idiotic than he felt.

But Wade continued, brazenly unaware. “I needed to get away, needed you to hate my stinking guts with every fiber of your being, to protect you from me. You deserve so much better than a friend like me, Peter. Shit, you deserve the whole fucking world! And I can’t give it to you! I can’t. So, I threw everything I could think of right back in your face so you'd run in the other direction.

Then, AND THEN, you go around with those puppy dog eyes looking like I stabbed your favorite kitten. You start throwing around words like _breaking your heart,_ and you’re walking closer and pulling me in and… WHAT do I _do_ with that?! I’m trying to do good here, I really fucking am. I’m trying to be the good guy for once in my miserable life, and holy shit, you just won’t let me! You make this all so difficult and you’re _killing_ me, baby boy, you’re killing me.”

Peter was at a loss for words for a moment. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. So instead, he took a page out of Wade’s book and just spouted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“How do you think I feel, huh? You tell me you _want_ me to hate you, you call me a coward, you tell me you don’t want me around, and that you don’t want to be anywhere near me, and fine. That’s fine! I'm an adult, I can deal with that. But then _you_ go around calling me _baby boy_ and I should hate that name! God, I used to hate that name so much, and I still should. But I don’t. I really, really don’t. And then you call me Petey and I feel like the biggest schmuck in the whole city for what it does to me.”

Wade’s arms fell and hung limp at his sides, his shoulders slumped in what looked to Peter like defeat. “What the fuck…” Wade whispered, probably unintentionally.

“Hell if I know,” Peter agreed.

“When did you…when did you stop hating the baby boy thing?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember,” Peter admitted, shrugging uselessly. “Just like I can’t remember when I started thinking of you as more than just an asshole, or a friend, or my best friend, or…”

“Or what?”

“Stop it, Wade. Don’t make me do this.”

“You threw around words like _heartbreak_ and _friendship_ , and you really expected me to ignore them? Do you know me?”

“You ignore them every other time.”

“Obviously! Back when I thought you didn’t mean any of it! When they were just words you said because they’re familiar to you. They aren’t familiar to me, Peter. My friends are either dead or they hate me. And I don’t mean hate in the funny way, or the _ha-ha I hate you so much but I love you_ , way. I mean hate-hate. The, _yes, I would like to watch you burn alive on a pyre dressed in polyester,_ kind of hate. Pure and violent.”

Well that was just stupid. But, thankfully, Peter wasn’t dumb enough to say it out loud.

“I wouldn’t call you my friend, my _best_ friend, if I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m too fucked in the head to believe that.”

The worst part of it all was that Peter knew Wade was being serious. He took a step forward and Wade didn’t step away. “So, we can work on that.”

“We can?” Wade sounded the most unsure Peter had ever heard him.

“If you’ll let me try. I can’t do any of this unless you want to try just as much as I do. It won’t work if you don’t.”

“And the heartbreak thing?”

Peter had been hoping Wade would forget about that part. No such luck, but in for a penny, in for a pound, right? Whatever that meant. “You threw the worst part of me in my face right after I told you my name. After you’d seen my face dozens of times. I trusted you, Wade. So yeah, it broke my heart that you didn’t trust me back.”

There were other words in between, ones Peter didn’t say but that he hoped Wade heard anyway. Maybe he was a little bit of a coward for that.

“I do trust you,” Wade said. He said it simply, bluntly, like it was a fact a two-year-old would have known, much less a _twenty_ -two-year-old. “It’s me I don’t trust. If you haven’t noticed, my head is a slight mess,” he pointed out, literally poking himself in the side of the head for emphasis.

“Yeah, but only slight. Now if it was a full-on mess, wow, then I just couldn’t handle it. That would be way too much.”

The sarcastic approach worked, and Wade laughed. It wasn’t the big, happy laugh Peter loved, but it was a start. Wait, loved? Loved. Crap.

“God help you, baby boy.”

Peter felt his face flush, and almost wished he hadn’t taken the mask off. Then again, this whole conversation would have felt really weird if he’d been Spider-man for it. He thought for a split second about asking Wade to take his off, but didn’t. Tonight was enough of an emotional bomb, they didn’t need to heap more baggage (and temptation on Peter’s part) into the mix.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to stop that,” Peter said.

“You just said you didn’t hate it! Which seriously goes against my whole original purpose for calling you that name, I hope you know.”

Peter laughed, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease at last. It felt like he had been tense for days – weeks, if he thought about it. “So…we’re good?”

Wade didn’t answer right away. “Good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Peter answered slowly, suddenly unsure all over again. “I don’t know, isn’t that what people say after stuff like this?”

“Fuck, people do this regularly?”

“It’d probably explain why Jamison went gray so early on in life.”

“Screw THAT!”

“Here, here,” Peter agreed, sighing. Wade still hadn’t moved, though. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you charge hourly?” Wade quipped, but Peter wasn’t buying it.

“Wade, come on, I just got you back and you _just_ promised no bullshit.”

A tiny squeaking noise that Peter wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t imagine escaped from Deadpool’s throat. “I…ok, here’s the thing. If I can’t call you baby boy, then you can’t do that!”

“Do what? What did I do?”

“Say softy shit like that!”

“Softy shit…?” Peter repeated, not understanding.

Wade waved his hand in the air. “Like ‘ _I just got you back_ ’. What the fuck is that? What do I do with that? I’m trying to respect boundaries here, and you’re making it really damn difficult.”

Peter was suddenly worried they weren’t on the same page at all. “You’re not leaving town, are you?”

“Nope, hadn’t planned on it now that I know you want me around.”

“Wade, I always wanted you around. That’s what this whole conversation has been about. What I _don’t_ want is for you to run off on me again.”

“That,” Wade said softly as Peter stepped forward at a useless attempt to get a better read on Wade’s face. There was only so much you could see with a mask in the way, even one as weirdly expressive as Deadpool’s. “Softy stuff like that.”

“So, you mean the truth?”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

Not for the first time, Peter wasn’t quite sure as to whom Wade was addressing. “Are the boxes talking?” he asked, placing his hand on Wade’s arm, trying to be reassuring. Wade stared down at the hand, and that one look sent goosebumps down Peter’s arm.

“Not now.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

Peter pursed his lips to keep from frowning. “You don’t get to decide what is and isn’t good for me, Wade.”

Wade didn’t have an answer for that. He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m not used to this.”

“Too bad.”

“You know, sometimes you’re a real shit.”

“True. But you’re into it,” Peter teased, winking. He meant it as a joke, really, he did, but Wade froze up again before pushing out a laugh, and suddenly things were weird between them. Shit. _Shitshitshit_. If Peter had just kept his mouth shut, if he hadn’t been such a moron and practically shoved his feelings in Wade’s face and written THIRSTY all over his face…

Peter let his hand fall awkwardly, and stepped back, also awkwardly. He was still wearing gloves, for crying out loud; the nerves in his hand shouldn’t feel as alert as if he’d stuck them on a lit stove, but there he was. He rubbed his arm just to give his hands something to do other than reach out again. “I, uh… I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Wade winked, and it was almost enough to convince Peter, but not quite. “I’ll be here, ready and waiting.”

\----

PETER

The person who fell into step beside him as he walked down the street coming home from work the next day wasn’t the one he had half-expected to see. Hoped to see. Wanted to see…

Wade hadn’t even left town for that long, given the circumstances, and he’d seen the guy just last night, so Peter really needed to get a grip on this new bout of separation anxiety. Clingy was not attractive. He smirked to himself at his own little pun.

“Is that disappointment I smell?” Natasha taunted in her silky voice; the one usually reserved for only the worst bouts of condescension. It just usually wasn’t Peter she was being condescending to.

“Nat. How nice to see you,” Peter deadpanned. Even in her most inconspicuous civies, Nat was stunning. It so wasn’t fair. Who the heck had the right to look so put together in a hoodie? Peter wasn’t a complete slob, but next to her he looked like a dopy teen all over again. When she and Cap went out together, no one batted an eye. Two insanely hot people walking together just makes sense, like a law of nature. When she was with Peter, some guys did literal double takes with their mouths hanging wide open at the sight.

Peter could practically feel her raising an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s in a mood, today,” she teased lightly. Or as lightly as Natasha could manage when she wasn’t conning someone. “And here I thought you’d be happier, what with recent homecomings.”

He really shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew Wade was back. SHIELD probably had tracking chips in anyone wearing spandex around here. “I’m fine with Tony,” he asserted preemptively.

“No, you’re not. Only lie if you’re good at it, sugar. And you’re not good at it.”

Peter didn’t groan, but it was a near thing. “Did he ask you to spy on me?”

“ _Should_ I be spying on you, little spider?”

“No!”

Nat smirked like she knew something Peter didn’t, but he would bite his own tongue off before he’d take the bait. “He didn’t ask me to do anything,” she informed him. “He never does. After everything with Bucky: making him a full member of the team, him and Steve running off on missions together like old times…”

“If you came here to make excuses for Tony being Tony, don’t worry. I’ve already done that. I know how he is, Nat, it’s fine.”

He caught the slight eye roll which was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t as annoyed as she sounded. That was probably worse, though, because it meant she was worried, or worse, she pitied him. “The whole lot of you deserve each other.”

“What does that mean?” Peter accused, wholly offended.

“It means I’m bored and want my upgrades finished on time, so I’m pulling an intervention. I’m starting with you, because you’re the easiest.”

“Hey!”

“That’s not a bad thing to be, you know. The rest of us are nearly past saving, but you’re still young. You have time to make sure you don’t end up like the two idiots in that tower, making moon eyes and throwing things at each other because they don’t know how to say what they feel.”

“Uh, I hope you know I’m not in love with Tony.”

“We all know you prefer a different kind of red suit,” she teased, and Peter blushed despite himself. “You need to talk to him.”

“We have talked,” Peter insisted. It wasn’t a lie, but he should have known better than to try to bullshit Natasha.

“Don’t try to be macho, Peter, it doesn’t suit you. You’ve exchanged pleasantries and answered when spoken to, but you haven’t been inside that lab in nearly four weeks. For anyone else, I’d say that was a solid case of self-preservation instinct kicking in. But you love that disaster zone.”

Peter didn’t answer – he couldn't, not without proving her right.

“Exactly," she agreed, rightly taking his silence as affirmation. Nat didn’t look overly smug, but he could tell the feeling was there. “He’s been louder than ever, you know,” she added, almost like an afterthought. Knowing her, it wasn’t an afterthought at all but rather a well-timed attack. "In the usual way: by not saying a word."

Because Peter couldn’t help himself, and because Nat was oh-so good at laying on the guilt, he asked; “Drinking?” He knew Natasha would know.

“Whenever Steve isn’t looking. And with everything going on with Barnes, Steve hasn’t been paying much attention to anything else.”

Peter let out a rough breath. “I didn’t mean for…I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Peter,” Natasha said seriously, pulling him aside to sit at a near-by park bench. “You have a right to be angry with him. What he chooses to do about it is not on you, he’s a grown man. Or supposed to be.”

“He won’t talk to me, Nat. You know even him better than I do, so you know he’ll brush it off the second I try.”

“But _you_ can’t brush it off this time,” she said simply, not a question.

“No! Wade is in my life. That’s how it is. He’s important to me, and that won’t change just because Tony doesn’t approve.”

“You _want_ him to approve, though. And you’ve been avoiding him because you know he won’t change his mind.”

“He’s Tony Stark,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “It takes days of literal torture and the mass-bombing of innocents for him to change his ways.”

“He changed his mind about Barnes.”

“Ok,” Peter amended. “Torture, bombs, and Steve Rodger’s abs.”

Nat squinted, considering. “I think it’s the biceps.”

Peter let out a laugh, then looked down at his hands, growing quiet again. “I’m just not Steve.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’re Peter Parker. You mean something to him, too.”

Peter scoffed. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

“As do you.”

“Excuse me? I’m the injured party here.”

Natasha turned to look him dead in the eyes. “You’ve been avoiding him, at least in part, because you know that hurts him, Peter. At the start of this, he was clearly the one in the wrong, but you have dragged it out to the point where you aren’t innocent any longer. If I were Clint, I would say, _pull your head out of your ass_.”

She was right. He knew she was. And she totally knew he knew it.

“I can’t…” Peter trailed off, not knowing exactly what it was he couldn’t do, so he switched tactics. “He won’t hear me out even if I do try. He’ll brush past it and convince me to move on like he does with everything else.”

Nat was silent for awhile, not looking at him. “We do not give up on the ones we care about, Peter. I think your aunt would say the same.”

“That’s a low blow,” he accused, and she gave him a small smile that kicked at his conscience. Oh, how he hated when Natasha was the voice of reason.

“But effective nonetheless,” she countered easily. Natasha gave him one last, long look then stood. “Alright. Enough chit-chat. Don’t you have homework to do before tonight?”

“Did you suddenly become Replacement Steve while he’s away?” Peter wanted to ask more about Tony, but didn’t. Maybe it was his pride, or stubbornness, or plain stupidity, but he let the joke be the last thing he said instead. Part of him knew he wanted to hear the truth from Tony himself, too, but that wasn’t something he felt the need to explain in so many words.

She narrowed her eyes at him and Peter immediately held up his hands in surrender. Natasha smirked, shaking her head and looking toward the sky with a self effacing smile before calling out, “See you soon, little spider.”

Peter stuck out his tongue childishly as she walked away, and she flipped him the middle finger over her shoulder in response. He felt an anxious weight in his chest at the idea of having another talk with Tony, but couldn’t help smiling despite that. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad, being a part of a team.

\----

WADE

Peter came back the following night, just as he said he would. If Wade were an honest person, he might have admitted that he’d expected Petey to flake like a fresh croissant.

They met on the rooftop this time, and the fresh air helped. He didn’t feel so trapped up there like he had yesterday when Petey had fucking _flirted_ with him for crying out loud, and Wade had only been able to gape at him.

Fuck _that_. Peter flirting with him was the start of every single good dream Wade had had for the past few years, and he didn’t get many of those. This time, he would be prepared for it. This time, Wade had a plan.

He’d been wrong before, in assuming Peter would ask him to take his mask off. Peter would never: the kid never pushed at anything unless that thing was a bad guy hurting others. To be totally fair, Wade had _been_ that bad guy more than a few times in his life. But not anymore!

No, because now Wade had a plan. A damn good one, too.

{He’s gonna gag his brains out.}

[Seriously, get the mop buckets ready – oh wait, this isn’t our place. We don’t give a shit! Let him spew his intestines all over Manhattan!]

{It’ll be a nice dinner for the rats with wings.}

“Fuck you guys,” Wade muttered under his breath. He wasn’t going to listen to them, not now. He’d listen when they dared him to eat that tenth chimichanga in a row, or down the three extra-large tacos at once, but not when it came to Peter. Not this time.

Fuck yeah, he was totally confident!

And then Peter dropped down from out of nowhere and took off his mask, and Wade saw those big hazel eyes and that sinful pout to those lips, and he just about collapsed on the spot. All those crazy bitches in historical fiction novels might not have seemed so damn crazy if Peter Parker had been the one making them faint every five minutes. How anyone was ever able to keep a clear head around a thing of beauty like that, Wade had no clue. Though, he didn’t have much experience with clear-headedness to start with.

“Wade, are you ok?” Peter asked, sounding worried and concerned and, oh _fuck,_ Wade was so far out of his depth.

He sprung back into action without a second thought and grinned widely. “Never better, Spider-fiend!”

Peter rolled his eyes, a hand coming up to his hip. Wade had to put his own hands behind his back and clasp them tight enough to cut off his circulation just to keep himself from reaching out to take Peter's. “Ha-ha. Spider jokes. Very original.”

“You know me, the OG. Keeping it real 24/7, like the real Slim Shady.”

“Uh, dude, are you sure you’re ok? Are you healing from a head wound again?” Peter asked, his eyebrows furrowing adorably, but then he was walking forward and the back of his hand was pressed up against Wade’s forehead, mocking him. It was a good bit, a real classic. At least Wade tried to remind himself it was, because all he could focus on was how close Peter was now.

Peter’s shoulders were smaller than Wade’s, and he was a solid four inches shorter, to boot. If Wade wanted to, he could wrap his arms completely around Peter and…and what?

[You are sappier than a teenage white girl losing her v-card.]

{When the hell did it come to this?! For shame…}

Peter frowned, then, apparently finding Wade’s silence weird.

{A natural response, since you’re being weird as FUCK.}

“Shut up,” Wade muttered again.

“Boxes?” Peter asked, and his smile wasn’t condescending like anyone else’s asking that question would have been. “Or am I the weird one right now?”

“Boxes. You’re still pretty weird though, Petey.” Wade added, glancing up at the hand that was still touching his head.

Peter looked up at the hand too, like he’d forgotten it was there, and his cheeks went the most delicious shade of pink as he snatched it away. That should be illegal for all it was doing to Wade right now.

“Illegal?” Peter asked, looking even more confused as his blush grew darker.

“Aw fuck, did I say that part out loud?”

“Yeah, kinda. What’s illegal?”

Wade could feel himself losing his nerve, and he knew the second he did, all the work on his plan would go right out the window. Or off the roof, in this case. His heart started to hammer in his chest, and the boxes started up a stream of hateful truths that was nearly impossible to block out.

And it would have been, if it wasn’t for the way Peter was looking at him.

“Wade? You’re never this quiet. What’s wrong?”

If he knew Peter, and he was ninety-nine and a half percent sure he did, Peter would be blaming himself right about now. Peter always pulled the martyr act, and Wade loved him for it, but he wasn’t about to let him start feeling like shit. Not on Wade’s watch.

“Run now, or forever hold your piece,” he heard himself say. The innuendo fell flat, but Wade hardly noticed. His palms were sweating up a storm, knowing this could very well be the last time Peter ever looked at him like that again. As if Peter cared.

Shit. Fuck. Get it over with, Deadpool. Be a man!

“Wade?”

“Brace yourself, Spidey.”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he finally pieced together what was happening. “Wade, you don’t have to, not if you’re uncomfortable. I get it, really,” Peter assured him gently.

Fuck, Peter was doing the understanding thing again. It was now or never.

Wade ripped off the mask.

\----

PETER

Wade’s face was both more and less what he was expecting.

From all the jokes and side-comments nearly everyone on the Avengers team made about the merc, Peter had been half expecting Wade to not have eyeballs, or maybe eyeballs without eyelids, or something equally nightmarish. But he had eyeballs and eyelids, and he even had eyelashes, though they were the only hair on his entire head. So, that was less.

He had brown eyes, actually. The kind that looked like melted milk chocolate and not dirt. They were deep, too, like there was a whole world of emotion Peter had hardly known Wade was even capable of hidden just underneath. For all he had been expecting (read: fantasizing), that certainly wasn’t a part of it. So, that was more.

Peter had seen parts of Wade’s skin before: his scarred lips and chin, and that familiar pattern of marred flesh continued up the rest of his face and over his bald head in relatively the same fashion. It was ridged in what looked like healed burns, and pocketed with more scars than Peter could ever hope to count. In fact, it sort of looked like the skin was breaking, healing, and reforming slowly, over and over again, in more than a few places. Peter didn’t know whether to consider that more or less, but it was definitely…something.

He had the sudden urge to touch, and before he knew what his hand was doing, his fingertips were grazing over Wade’s cheek.

Wade reacted instantly, snatching Peter’s hand in a flash, gripping his wrist tight enough to hurt.

“Sorry!” Peter apologized quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…people don’t usually…” Wade’s voice was hoarse, and Peter tried his best to keep every ounce of sadness off his face. Wade was not a man who appreciated pity.

“Oh,” was Peter’s brilliant response. He didn’t have a rule book for situations like this. He knew when a girl asked if a dress made her look fat, there were a million possible answers and most of them were wrong, regardless of how you or she actually felt about the dress. This felt a little bit like that. Except not really.

“You’re afraid,” Wade surmised. He seemed to have cleared his throat at some point while Peter was staring, but his tone was stiff, and it reminded Peter of the way he himself had spoken to Tony recently, with a forced kind of detachment. He didn’t want that with Wade, didn’t want _himself_ to be the reason Wade reacted like this.

“Uncertain,” Peter corrected. “Nervous, sure. I’m not afraid, though. I’m not scared.” Wade didn’t look convinced, so Peter decided if he was going to stick his foot in his mouth, he better just get it over with. “It’s something to get used to for sure, and stop it, Wade, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that I associate you with the mask – it’s all I’ve ever known you as. It’ll take some getting used to; associating you with your real face.”

Wade backed up suddenly, dropping Peter’s hand like it was on fire. “You think I want you associating me with _this_? _”_ he asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

Peter knew the instant his eyes went wide that Wade was going to take that reaction the wrong way, and sure enough, Wade let out a cruel sort of laugh. What he wouldn’t give to have Professor X’s mutation, to know what Wade was thinking so he could stop making such an ass of himself, and to know what the heck he was supposed to say to make it better.

“No,” Peter argued, stepping forward and following Wade as the merc stomped across the rooftop. “It’s your face, Wade. I don’t want to associate you with anything else. Anything else isn’t you.”

“HA! Ok, yeah. Great. Wonderful. I’m super clear on that now, thank you,” Wade spat out, his voice almost a growl by the end.

“This is coming out totally wrong.”

“No, it’s not! This is how it is. This is how _I_ am: an ugly motherfucking son of a whore. And my dearly departed mummy literally slept with dudes for cash, so I mean it in every sense of the word.”

Peter caught back up to him, feeling a horrible sense of deja vu. He ran around to face Wade, holding out a hand to his chest to stop the man in his tracks. “Seriously, calm down. It’s ok.”

Wade was breathing heavily, enough that Peter’s hand was rising and falling quickly along with Wade’s chest. But he was listening, and that was a start. Oh, Peter hoped to God it was a start.

He kept one hand firmly on Wade’s chest, and moved the other to Wade’s shoulder, moving slowly as to telegraph his movements so that Wade could move away if he wanted to. Peter spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable to make sure Wade heard every word, even if he refused to take them seriously. “I didn’t run, Wade. I’m still here. You did _not_ scare me off.”

Wade said nothing, but Peter felt a hand twitch at his side.

“Hey,” Peter said, gently this time, to call Wade back to the present moment. “Talk to me.”

“Why are you looking at me like that,” Wade asked, his voice sounding forced, almost strangled.

“Like what? This is how I always look at you.”

Wade paused, his breathing hardly having slowed at all, and his eyes still locked onto Peter’s, searching. “Exactly. Why?”

Peter swallowed. This was not the time for _that_ conversation. A _feelings_ conversation. He wanted to prolong the destruction of their friendship for as long as he could, especially after a night like this. He couldn’t ruin what they already had with the stupid things he felt. He couldn’t lose Wade, and he didn’t want to make the guy any more uncomfortable than he already was. This was about Wade, not him.

“You have brown eyes,” Peter said instead.

That threw Wade off, and he blinked a few times, cocking his head to the side. “Huh?”

That shouldn’t have been cute, all things considered, but hell if he didn’t feel like kissing the life out of that stupid, adorably confused pout. Peter had the sudden sensation of walking through a swimming pool and hitting the deep end without warning, unable to feel solid ground beneath his feet.

Peter felt his face go bright red again, but who the heck cared, really? It was chilly outside, and they were on a roof. He had excuses. “Your eyes,” he repeated. “I don’t know, I just didn’t know they were brown. You never told me.”

“You never asked, Petey.”

“You would have made up something stupid if I had, like purple.”

“Hey, purple eyes are badass. I would kill a man for purple eyes.”

“You’d kill a man over a taco, so those aren’t very good stakes.”

“Fair point.”

It was a conversation that almost felt normal, except Wade usually never let Peter win so easily, and his breathing was still erratic. Peter’s wasn’t so stable either, but he chose to ignore that small detail. He also chose to disregard the fact he still had his hands on Wade’s chest and forearm. However, choosing to disregard something doesn’t always mean it actually gets disregarded.

“It’s a nice brown,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“You say the sweetest things,” Wade teased back. Peter could tell it was half-hearted, but at least Wade was trying. Trying was good, wasn’t it?

Peter shifted position and just so happened to shift closer to Wade, his elbow bending closed as he kept his hand in place on Wade’s chest. “It’s ok, Wade. I mean it,” Peter repeated, wishing Wade would believe him while knowing he wouldn’t.

“I keep waiting for you to bolt. You know, I’ve been told it’s rude to keep a man waiting.”

“You’ll be disappointed, then. Just don’t tell my aunt about the rude thing. She’ll bite my head off.”

“Not disappointed,” Wade said quietly. He wasn’t breathing quite as hard now, and Peter couldn’t help but smile just a little. Neither could he help the weightless feeling in his stomach, like he’d just thrown himself off a building.

“Good. Me either.”

There weren’t webs to catch him from this kind of falling.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” Wade scolded, or maybe it was meant to scold, but because it was little more than a whisper, the statement lost its edge. 

“Wade, you’re a whole heck of a lot of things. And yeah, you’ve disappointed me before – you’re a real asshole sometimes – but never because of the way you look.”

“Says the guy who was literally dating a model not three months ago.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that relationship ended so well.”

“Still valid. Model, I am not.”

“Don’t need you to be. I need you to be Wade. That’s it. And occasionally Deadpool, too, so that you can come save Spider-man’s ass every once in a while.”

“You _do_ end up kidnapped way more often than most male superheroes.”

“It’s because I’m so cute,” Peter teased, going for the joke, but Wade’s grin turned into more of a smile instead of a laugh.

“No arguments from the peanut gallery.”

“Come off it, Wade.” Thank God for the nighttime and relative darkness, or Peter would never be able to live down the level of blush he knew he was sporting.

It was quiet for a moment, and Peter felt new tension tingling at the base of his spine, but it wasn’t really all that new, was it? It had just taken him a while to recognize it. Wade must have seen something of that tension in Peter’s eyes because he asked, “What are you doing, Peter?”

It was the most earnest question he thought Wade had ever asked him, and yet it felt more loaded than anything else they’d ever said.

There were a million things Peter could have said back. Most of them were probably wrong.

“I don’t know,” Peter murmured. They were already close, but he inched forward just that much more.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he said again, the hand on Wade’s arm trailing down to Wade’s hand, their fingers interlocking without hesitation. And it felt right, that contact. It felt completely natural to fit his hand in with Wade’s, like they had been doing this the whole time. But they hadn’t, and Peter couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that was.

“Some things you can’t take back, baby boy.” Wade’s voice was raspy again, husky and _his eyes_. Had Wade looked at him like that before? Had anyone?

“What did we agree about calling me that?”

“I agreed to no such thing,” Wade murmured, and this time it wasn’t Peter who closed the distance. Wade leaned in, too quickly and not fast enough. When his lips touched Peter’s, it was abrupt, then gentle. Almost careful. Peter felt his own lips moving before he could fully process what was happening, matching Wade’s for every step; pressing in further when Wade’s free hand moved to the small of his back, pulling him the rest of the way.

When their bodies were flush against one another, Peter lost it. The worry, the fear, the nagging thoughts reminding him that there was no turning back, not now, not after this.

When he felt Wade’s hand clenching at his, the other hand pulling his suit even tighter against his skin, Peter forgot all of it.

He dropped Wade’s hand to bring both of his to Wade’s neck, his head, his face, pulling Wade closer while Wade coaxed his lips apart. The moan he let out was followed by one from Wade, and then Peter was lifted, his legs wrapping around Wade automatically, making Wade moan deep into Peter’s mouth again and Peter felt himself pulse against the hard plane of Wade’s stomach.

“Fuck, Peter,” Wade gasped, breaking their kiss just to turn his head and latch onto Peter’s neck, covering the strip of exposed skin in hot, wet marks.

“ _Wade.”_

Unfortunately, neither of them were ever so lucky, and a sharp, electronic buzz ripped Peter out of the moment.

“ _Spider-man. We have a situation at the Tower; we need all hands on deck_ ,” came Cap’s static-y order from some evil, horrible, ungodly place. Peter’s mask had fallen forgotten on the concrete at their feet, and for one glorious moment, Peter thought about chucking it right off the roof and pretending he’d lost it. “ _Spider-man, do you read me? Break in at the Tower. Head to the north-west perimeter, ASAP_.”

Wade was oblivious, if the continued sucking and grazing of teeth on Peter’s neck was anything to go by. It was torture to lean back and pull Wade’s head away because it felt _so good_ and if this was a practical joke, Peter would personally throw every single one of Cap’s sketchbooks into the river. No, he’d rip out the pages, _then_ throw them all into the river.

“There’s five of them there,” Wade argued once Peter pulled back as far as his neck would let him. His eyes narrowed but that didn’t take away from the heavy-lidded look in his eyes that went straight down to Peter’s groin and stayed there. So, he _had_ heard Cap’s order after all.

Peter bit down on his lip and groaned again at the way Wade’s gaze flicked down to watch it. Whywhywhy did Peter have to be the rational one? “Including Bruce,” he reminded Wade. “He’s trying to keep the Big Guy to a minimum, so really there’s four.”

“Then why the fuck is he living with those assholes? That place gets more action than I do.”

“He gets lonely,” Peter defended weakly. Wade still had his hands tight on Peter’s ass, holding him up, and it was making it impossible to think clearly. He needed them moved. He wanted them to pull tighter. “Wade…you gotta put me down.”

Wade lifted a brow a him, sliding his hands down to Peter’s thighs, and as his body shifted down, Peter felt the hard line of Wade’s own arousal pressing against him. _Mercy_.

“You’ll have to unwrap your legs, then,” Wade said with a sly grin, and damn it all, Wade was teasing him.

Peter pursed his lips, annoyed at himself for being so easy. Wade laughed and released his hold when Peter let his feet drop to the ground, but they didn’t fully break apart. The laugh faded out and Peter saw his own reluctance mirrored in Wade’s eyes.

“I have to go,” he said again. Peter didn’t move.

“So, go. But please kick America’s sweetheart right in the balls for me.”

Peter’s laugh got caught in his throat half-way through. “Yeah. Fuck.” He pulled away before he could waste any more time.  A break in at the Tower _did_ sound bad, and he could only shrug off his responsibilities for so long.

“Better watch that mouth of yours, baby boy,” Wade sing-songed as Peter snatched up the mask and pulled it over his head.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?” Peter asked, grateful for the feeling of the cool mask against his hot cheeks as a slow, downright lecherous grin spread across Wade’s face.

“Come back in one piece, hot-shot, and maybe I’ll show you.”

Peter laughed at that, a bubbling, giddy sort of feeling welling in his chest. He laughed because he could, and because it felt _good_. Then he swung himself over the edge without looking back, knowing Wade was watching.

\----

At the tower, it was chaos. The lightness Peter had felt just moments before was overrun by instinct as he swung into a smashed-in window on the side Cap had indicated. It took serious balls to attack the tower, but more than that, the timing of it was too perfect. Only five active members were present, and the rest of the Avengers on leave or flung out across the country and over the world on separate assignments.

That glass was supposed to be able to take a grenade, yet there it was; shattered all over the carpet of a floor he didn’t recognize. It must have been someone’s personal room, but Peter didn’t go into anyone’s space often enough to recognize anything straight away. He was at least fifteen stories up, not exactly the easiest place for a battering-ram style invasion from the outside.

“Cap, north-west blast site is clear,” Peter informed quickly over the comm. His senses weren’t picking up immediate physical danger, but his whole body was on edge. He felt just like he had when walking into Aunt May’s house a few years back after it had been broken into. It wasn’t his actual home, but it could have been if he had accepted the offer, and the uneasy feeling of _violation_ crept up under his skin all the same.

“Intruders have gone ghost in the building,” Cap said quickly. “We’ve lost power and connection with Iron Man. Cage is on his way up to you through the back stairwell. Keep heading up and stay vigilant.”

“Roger that.”

Peter moved as quickly as he could though the room and then corridor leading to the elevator.

He knew exactly what Cap was thinking: that the intruders would be heading for the highest of Tony’s labs. Why else enter from this far up? Steve himself was in the thick of the fighting below, where most of the civilians were still being evacuated, and also the entrance to the underground lab.

Tony being out of reach was concerning, too. FRIDAY was inactive, despite the fail-safe alarms going off like crazy the further Peter went into the building. The loud clinging of the metal bells was enough to set his teeth on edge, but he pushed past the discomfort. As a result of the out-of-commission AI, the elevator was a good as dead, but Peter only needed access to the shaft.

Stairs wouldn’t lead directly up to the lab, but he could probably muscle his way thought the secondary locked shaft high above, if only he could get there before FRIDAY’s reserves came back online. If they would. Cap hadn't been able to fill him in all the way on their current status. but he had to be fast, just in case, and he didn’t have any idea how much time he had left. Luckily for him, he was Spider-man.

\-----

The elevator shaft was nothing. The real problem, as it turned out, was that he was already late.

The glass walls separating Peter from the inner lab were half shattered, and the intruders were more than ready for him. A heavy metal boot slammed down on his hand as he was pulling himself up and through the already pried-apart doors of the elevator. Instead of letting go entirely, as the asshole probably expected, Peter used his other hand to wrap around the ankle and _pulled_ twisting the metal as hard as he could. The body fell quickly, and Peter yanked it back, using the momentum to pull himself the rest of the way up. The person caught themselves on the edge, and Peter spun around and kicked at their chest, hard. They screamed as they tumbled down the shaft, and Peter shot out his webs to secure them to the wall.

He ducked just in time to avoid a blow to the back of his skull.

“No need to thank me for saving your friend from ending up looking like a pancake! It's all in a day's work.” Peter quipped lightly as he ducked and rolled under the new guy’s legs. With the distance, he could get a better look at who was trying to kill him. They were encased in metal that molded to their body like an exoskeleton, with a large ventilated mask covering their face and head.

Every movement was fluid and powerful, and Peter know of only one organization had the money and the brainpower to produce something like this without a media storm: A.I.M.

“Their reinforcements are here, do it now!” came a shout from inside the lab. The one fighting Peter gave no sign that the order was for them as they swirled back in full force, pulling a gun from a built-in holster at their back.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring a gun to a web fight?”

“Keep talking, runt, you’ll die faster.”

“Your reflexes are pretty slow, so I think you’re being a little overconfident there, buddy.”

The person laughed, cracking their neck, and that was when Peter first smelt it.

A slightly sour, floral scent had hit the air, hardly noticeable for anyone who wasn’t Spiderman. It might have been a nasty perfume, maybe one Pepper had left behind because Tony had tended to pick out the most expensive one without actually checking to see how good it smelt, but one more look at the goons’ masks and Peter knew it wasn’t perfume.

Peter had the guy down on the ground, earning a solid blow to the head for his efforts. The guy just laughed. “Shame you only have one of those freak masks,” he spat before Peter knocked him out.

Shit. There were more guys coming out of the lab, another giving orders and yelling at… “Tony!”

They had Tony secured to a chair that they’d kicked over, and he was gasping for air. One of them was saying something about codes and the pain would be all over once Tony gave up allegiance to a failing ideal. Trust the Hyrda offshoot to start preaching rhetoric while also trying to kill everyone in the building. Some things never changed.

Peter weaved through the three goons coming at him through the glass, giving himself enough of an opening to web the one holding down Tony’s left arm. Tony fumbled to his knees and reacted quickly, clobbering the guy in a punch worthy of The Thing, but that was all Peter had time to see before the one surrounding him copped on to what he was doing and attacked Peter in earnest.

He heard a battle-cry, and then the tell-tale sound of the Tony’s repulsor watch going off.

Then the hot, blue blast of the repulsor shot out over Peter’s head, slamming into Asshole Number Five and knocking them off their feet. Peter wasted no time webbing him to the floor, and then it was quick work for him and Tony to finish off the rest of them, even with Tony half way to passing out. That was worrying.

“You don’t have a mask?!” Peter accused, knocking out the last goon with a solid _thunk_ to the head with the chair that had been thrown at him earlier.

Tony opened his mouth, then stumbled, catching himself hard on the edge of the table as he struggled to stay on his feet. He fumbled again, collapsing to the floor in a heap before he could prop himself up.

Peter was instantly on autopilot, the adrenaline drowning out every other thought that wasn’t _get Tony out_. Tony didn’t have a mask filtering out the gas, and there wasn’t enough time to try and find one, not without knowing how much of it was already in Tony’s system.

_Get Tony out._

But where was out? There weren’t windows to bust out of from this floor, and the elevator shaft would be too dangerous without knowing when the power would come back online, plus there was a guy suspended by webs right in the middle. With the sideways and down directions crossed off as options, the only sensible way left was up. Which meant going through the ventilation shaft. Which Tony sure as all heck couldn’t manage on his own, even on a good day, considering the only vent leading to the roof from here was a straight, vertical shot.

Wonderful. Maybe _sensible_ was a stretch, but it was the least suicidal idea Peter had.

Webbing the taller man to his back was harder than Peter anticipated, but there weren’t other options if he was going to have to climb to the roof and Tony couldn’t hold on by himself. A cursory check of Tony’s eyes showed they were severely dilated and unfocused, but Peter was no doctor and had no idea how bad of a sign that was, though he figured it was Not Good.

He heard Tony mumbling from behind him as he tore down the ceiling tile to climb up into the shafts above. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll pay for that, I know. Add it to my IOU.”

Tony was uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes ticked on, and Peter pushed himself as hard as he physically could, climbing up and up and up through the heat of the vent. He knew Tony had issues with tight, dark spaces like this, and with loss of control in general, and so he pushed harder, sweat soaking the inside of his mask so that he felt like he was breathing in the humid, salty sweat more so than air.

“Tony, you really need get someone to clean these things. The amount of dust in here is unbelievable. And maybe install a few LED lights, huh? I know I have killer eyesight, but man, dark is dark.”

Tony grumbled a little, and Peter felt the man’s chest stutter against his back, like a cough or a wheeze, but no sound followed.

“You never shut up half the time, and now you’re taking a vow of silence? What’s up with that? You’ve been trying to talk to me for weeks, and yeah, ok, I’ve been brushing you off. I’ve been practically begging you to leave me alone. But right now, some chit-chat would be really great for morale, you know? Might help boost my confidence, inspire loyalty, and more words Cap throws out at round table meetings. Well, technically, the table is more of an oval shape, but you know what I mean.”

He wasn’t panicking. Not yet. But it was a near thing, and rambling about nothing was the only thing he could think to do. He wished Tony would speak. Yell at him. Call him Webs. Say he was too lazy or too slow or that he smelled bad or some other random insult that both of them knew meant absolutely nothing at all.

By the time Peter reached the end, Tony’s breathing sounded dangerously shallow.

Peter pressed a palm to the grate, but it wasn’t budging. He maneuvered himself and tony so that he could place both hands on it, but it hardly even twitched. “No. No-no-no. We’re so close, and this is such a stupid way to die. Trapped in an air vent… You’d never forgive me. Your eulogy would suck: here lies Tony Stark, who almost went out fighting, but in reality, he died strapped to Spiderman’s back like a baby while suffocating in a dirty air vent. It just sounds dumb. Yeah, no, we can’t have that. Cap would throttle me, and then Bucky would kill me for upsetting Cap, and who knows exactly how much the Russians taught _him_.”

He slammed into it with both hands, and again and again until he was yelling and pounding with everything he had. Then he stopped. Locked his fingers around the grate, and _pushed_ until he felt like his veins would burst from it.

Then the locks on the grate finally snapped off, sending a painful vibration down Peter’s arms, and he and Tony fell a few feet down the shaft before Peter was able to catch himself again. But he didn’t care – couldn’t think about anything other than getting Tony out and into that fresh air.

He didn’t flop tiredly on the roof like his body was begging him to the second he breached the surface of the roof. Didn't gasp or delight at the feeling of the cool air through his mask. He tore away the webbing tying Tony to him, and carried Tony over to prop him up against a metal box that Peter couldn’t have cared less about the practical name of if he tried.

Peter stumbled to kneel beside him, checked for a pulse, and felt like celebrating when he found it: still steady, if a little bit slow. He didn’t have time to rejoice, though. He hurriedly checked the cuts around Tony’s wrists for further tearing and, when he didn’t see any excessive bleeding, he relocated Tony’s thumbs back into their sockets - hearing the sharp click of bone against bone and breathing a sigh of relief when Tony jerked awake with a cry of pain.

“What…the _fuck_ …was that…for…” Tony wheezed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the continued use of your thumbs, or were you hoping for a nice, bionic set like Bucky’s arm?”

Tony’s eyes were still unfocused and his eyelids looked like they were struggling to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time, but Peter understood the intended glare.

“Yeah, yeah. I know; fuck me,” Peter filled in for him. It felt good to joke. Or rather, it was the only thing Peter knew how to do with Tony’s labored breaths coming in wheezy and weak, only getting worse, and his hands gone limp at his sides. It looked as if it was all Tony could do to keep his head up straight.

Peter moved to support Tony’s head with his hands, under the pretense of checking his pupils and looking for any unnoticed head wounds. In reality, Peter had seen Tony’s head start to tilt a little too far to the right than was probably comfortable. An anxious knot formed in his stomach.

“Bruce will be up here soon to check you properly. Cap will make sure of it, even if he has to chuck the guy up to the roof from the sidewalk,” Peter assured him. Maybe he said that a little bit for his own benefit, too. “So suck it up, will ya? You’ll be fine.”

Tony coughed, but the weak upturn of lips told Peter it was supposed to be a laugh. “Thanks, kid.”

“Gotta protect my future interning opportunities, right? It’ll look really bad on a resume if I just let my boss die on the job.”

“Take off your mask, Pete,” Tony said, probably meaning to be serious, but slurring his words so badly it was almost indecipherable. He didn’t look much like laughing anymore.

Peter hesitated; partially because he was still holding up Tony’s head and he was worried if he let go it would fall over, and partly because he knew that tone. Even when Tony was weak, and tired, and half way to passing out, his Serious Voice carried weight.

“Come on,” Tony urged with another little cough. Though that cough could have been an intentional pity grab, and Peter was pretty sure it had, it worked.

Peter pulled the thing off, hair and face covered in sweat and dirt that was only made worse when Peter tried to wipe it away. But Tony didn’t comment on any of that. He didn’t even look like he saw it.

Peter couldn’t say anything past the lump in his throat. For a second, just a split second, he had thought Tony was going to die. That he would be too late. That he wouldn’t be able to get Tony out fast enough.

And just like that, the past few weeks felt inconsequential.

Tony was nearly gasping between breaths as he struggled to push out the words, but Peter heard them all the same; “I’m…sorry. …mean it, Pete.”

Peter shook his head. “You don’t have to say it. I know. I’ve been… You didn’t deserve all that. I’m sorry, too, Tony. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

Peter let his own head hang, feeling useless, unable to look Tony in the eye. He had been stupid. Selfish. Petty. And it had almost happened again – losing Tony like he’d lost Uncle Ben, with only the memory of a spoiled brat snubbing him to lay him to rest.

A weight settled on his knee, and Peter glanced over to see Tony’s hand resting there – a seriously terrible attempt at a reassuring grip. “Then…we’re both assholes.”

And Peter felt like crying even as he laughed, because Tony was okay. They were going to be okay.

“That about sums it up, yep.”

“Don’t suppose I could guilt you into taking a floor in the Tower?”

“No, but you can guilt me into helping you with repairs. I fucked up your ceiling, and probably the vent, too. And that grate.”

Tony chuckled, but that sparked a coughing fit, and Peter helped him sit up a little straighter to catch his breath. “I’ll gladly take you up on that, kid,” he wheezed after a few minutes, looking exhausted. He gave Peter a look like there was more he wanted to say, but Peter cut him off with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Later. We can talk later. You know, when I’m not worried you’re about to keel over at any moment.”

Tony gave him a grin that almost looked like his healthy one, and Peter grinned back.

The door to the back stairwell burst open with a loud _BANG_ as it soared across the roof and landed, bent in half, on the other side. Peter had his left web shooter trained on the door before he even looked, keeping his eyes on Tony for another quick moment to make sure he didn’t list too far to one side.

“Dammit Cage, haven’t you destroyed ‘nuff of my property?” Tony grumbled, but the edge just wasn’t there, and “property” sounded more like a gargled, “pottery”. To be fair, it was hard to have edge when you sounded as winded as if you just ran a double marathon, and you couldn’t actually hold your head up on your own.

Peter turned to see Luke roll his eyes with his arms crossed heavily over his chest. “Let the good doctor fix you up and stop yapping, Stark.”

Bruce came rushing past Luke, first aid kit in hand. He smiled wanly as he crouched down next to Peter. He looked tired, too.

“Big Green make an appearance?” Peter couldn’t help but ask. He hadn’t seen Hulk in forever, and he was going to be sorry if he missed it. _Priorities, Pete, priorities._

“No such luck,” Bruce muttered sarcastically, checking Tony’s vitals. “How long was he exposed?”

“No idea. I can’t even remember how long it took me to get him up here from the lab.”

“Woah there, the lab? How did you make it up here?” Luke asked, brow furrowing as he came closer to the three of them. “The stairwell was nearly demolished, and that door was sealed tight.”

Peter jerked his thumb over toward the vent and the now-busted grate. He slumped down next to Tony, finally feeling how tired he was now that Bruce was here to make sure Tony didn’t die.

Luke let out a low whistle. “You did that? That cover looks like _I_ took a swing at it. Didn’t know you had it in you, Pete.”

Any other time, Peter would have been jumping for joy at praise like that from Luke. Now? Everything hurt and he wanted to sleep for a week. Starting now.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t fall asleep on me, Peter,” Bruce called out to him. “We need to get you checked out too, your mask can only filter out so much at a time. There’s no telling how much you ingested crawling through that vent. Especially carrying Tony with you, you would have been exerting more energy than usual and made your system work twice as hard.”

Peter heard himself mumble out a response, but not even he was entirely sure of what he’d tried to say. His arms felt heavy and weak.

“I got the kid. You need help with Tony?” Luke asked, picking up Peter before he could protest.

“Crap, don’t tell Jessica about this,” Peter pleaded. “I’ll never live it down.”

Luke laughed, the sound deep enough that Peter felt the warmth of the vibrations from where he was being carried, bridal-style, against Luke’s chest. “Oh, she’s going to be the first to know. She likes to keep tabs on how many people I carry over the threshold,” he teased, and Peter was too worn out to laugh back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -"Clingy is not attractive" is a self-indulgent pun and I'm not even a little bit sorry about it. You're welcome.  
> \- The only problem with writing a companion series, is that certain questions can only be answered in the opposite story. I want to elaborate right away, but sadly, Peter's not omniscient (imagine Parker Industries' stock prices if he was, though). There are just some things he doesn't see, and therefore can't know about, which is a little frustrating. Come on Marvel, make my life a little easier.


	3. Happy Endings

> “Oh I, got a feeling this will shake me down
> 
> Oh I, kind of hoping it will turn me ‘round
> 
> Oh I, got a feeling that however slow
> 
> Oh I, kind of hoping this will reach my soul”
> 
> ~Act of Kindness – Bastille

 

PETER

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but the first thing Peter did when he woke was run down to Bruce’s med bay, tripping over his own feet, and cursing the soreness in his limbs along the way. Bruce wasn’t technically a people doctor, but most of the time he was the closest to one that they had on hand, so Tony had added some medical equipment into Bruce’s lab and called it a day. It wasn’t better than a hospital, but it was enough to keep them on their feet for the smaller, less disastrous situations.

Peter skidded to a halt outside the glass doors of Bruce’s lab, staring at the white bed Tony lay on next to some sort of plant experiment. Tony hated biology with a weird amount of passion, so he was probably _loving_ life right about now.

“That glass goes both ways, genius,” Tony called out.

Peter cursed under his breath. Tony’s eyes weren’t even open, how the heck had he been spotted? Peter walked into the room anyway, stopping by Tony’s bedside with his hands in his pockets. “How did Bruce convince you to stay put?”

Tony opened one eye to scowl at Peter. “Threats. Can you imagine? Our mini-monk, threatening me with bodily harm. I’ll have to tell his sensei, or Master Yoda, or whatever he called the bald guy he meditated with for a year.”

“So, in other words, he threatened your lab?” Peter surmised, deadpan.

“That’s my life’s blood! It counts as bodily harm!” Tony argued back, but he grinned when Peter smiled at him. “How’re you feeling, Webs?”

“Asks the guy strapped to a heart rate monitor?” Peter returned skeptically, eyebrow raised and all.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You could just answer the question. Make my life easier. I just survived a vicious toxin and barely escaped death with my devastatingly charming voice intact. Ergo, I require the proper amount of respect and awe.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “all thanks to me.”

Tony chuckled, nodding slowly. “Thanks to you.”

It was quiet for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say or how to say it. Peter sat down on the edge of Tony’s bed, staring down at his own hands as he rubbed them together.

“I want you to know…” Peter started, but a grunt from Tony made him pause and look back up.

Tony was looking Peter dead in the eyes, sitting up as alert as Peter had ever seen him. “I respect your decisions, Peter. I do. I’m a hard-ass who likes to get his way, exactly the way he wants it, and throws a tantrum when he doesn’t. It’s crap, and I know it’s crap. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Any of it, over the past few weeks. You weren’t wrong to want support instead of me breathing down your neck, telling you how you ought to live your life.”

Peter’s eyes stung, but Tony kept going.

“I have made a mess of my life. A mess of the people I love, and the ones who are stupid enough to care about me in return. You are better than me, Peter, you always have been, even when you were an impulsive little brat with a serious morality complex. You’re still both of those things – I hope you know that – but you’ve grown up, too. I’m proud to say I’ve gotten to see you grow into the hero you are, and the one you’re becoming. I’m proud of you, Peter. No matter what stupid shit comes out of my mouth, I _am_. And I trust your judgement: It’s a part of the reason you got put on this team in the first place.”

Tony looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and chewing the inside of his cheek. “I freaked out on you because of my own shit, not yours. If this is what you want, Pete,” Tony said, looking directly into Peter’s eyes, “Then I’ll back your play.”

Peter didn't know how to voice what that meant to him, but he tried his best, regardless. “Tony, your opinion matters to me. Not just as my boss, or my mentor, or as a member of the Avengers.” He hoped Tony understood the words he was leaving out: the feelings in between that he couldn’t make himself put into words, if he could find them at all. But from the look in Tony’s eyes, that slightest hint of a shine around the edges, he thought Tony did. “I’m one of those people stupid enough to care about you, and you know it.”

Tony just stared at him, unmoving, so Peter took that as his cue to keep talking, but looked at his hands again, instead.

“You were looking pretty bad there for a while, and I don’t think I’ve ever told you that I care before. Not in so many words. You could have been gone, had things ended differently, and I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to apologize for being an ass, and make it up with you. It would have been just like…” That lump in his throat had returned full force, painful.

Tony leaned forward and suddenly Peter was being hugged. _Hugged_ by Tony Stark. It took less than a second for Peter to hug him back, burying his face in the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged Tony, maybe because that wasn’t something they did. It wasn’t something _Tony_ did.

Nat hugged him sometimes, Cap hugged anything that moved, and Wade…well. Luke and Janet and even _Wanda_ of all people, had all given him a quick squeeze in recent memory. Clint, too, now that Peter thought about it. But never Tony. Tony, whom Peter was the closest to out of all the Avengers, and who’s opinion mattered even more to Peter than Cap’s.

One hug from him, and Peter felt like a little kid again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony said gruffly. They were both going to pretend, until the day that they died, that neither of them had shed even the smallest of tears. So, they hugged until it was safe to pull away with enough plausible deniability to last them a good long while.

Peter smirked, eager to toss in some levity to balance out all the _emotions_ they were sharing. “Maybe one day we’ll learn to talk before shit hits the fan, like well-adjusted people do.”

Tony laughed, falling back against the pillows with a wince Peter didn’t miss. “Yeah, I won’t hold my breath. Well-adjusted people and this kind of work don’t go together on a fundamental level. But,” he started, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes, “we could talk more. You know. Occasionally.”

Peter was practically beaming, even as he tried to play it off cool. “Yeah. Yeah, that could work. You know, when I have the time. I have a very busy schedule.”

“Oh, piss off, Parker,” Tony said, chucking a pillow at the back of Peter’s head as Peter got up to leave.

“You just said you loved me, and now you’re tossing projectiles! I can’t keep up with you people.”

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically, but Peter caught his smile all the same as he tossed back the pillow. “Get out of here. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a boyfriend to inform that you didn’t get killed in a fiery explosion.”

“Oh.” Boyfriend? Was Wade a boyfriend? Huh. That was probably one of the many things they ought to figure out at some point. “I’m sure he’ll know I’m fine.”

Tony gave him a flat look. “Yes – Deadpool’s never prone to insane overreaction or unwarranted paranoia.”

Peter’s face fell as he realized Tony was probably…

“Shit.”

Tony laughed again, shaking his head. “If he breaks down my door because your ass didn’t pick up a damn phone, you’re cleaning up after Thor for a week!”

\----

PETER

The trip to Wade’s apartment went by in a blur. Peter had stowed his suit in a STARK Industries gym bag and grabbed the accompanying sweat pants and hoodie so that he could take a cab home instead of webbing his way there. Peter felt bone tired just sitting there, and he didn’t want to imagine the head injury he’d face if he dropped off mid-swing.

It had taken him two flip-throughs of his contacts list to figure out that he didn’t have Wade’s number – yet another sign that he had done the right thing in calling a taxi on Tony’s dime. So back to the apartment he went, hoping the merc would be there doing whatever it was he did while waiting for Peter. Hopefully something not involving murder.

The cab was stinky and it physically pained Peter to exit, though that had more to do with his aching muscles and patched up wounds than it did any fondness the cab or its driver.

The second thing Peter realized, upon making it all the way up to Wade’s apartment door, was that he didn’t have a key.

He groaned, slamming his forehead against the door – _ouch_ – before relegating himself to going all the way back outside and climbing up through the fire escape. Should he have chosen to break the door handle with his bare hands, he wouldn’t have been able to afford the repairs. Plus, that would have been rude.

But the day (or was it evening? Peter didn’t know what the time was, anymore) wasn’t over. Because of course it wasn’t.

The second he reached Wade’s window, a heavy chain of metal whipped out of nowhere and caught his wrist, trapping it too tight against the bars of the fire escape. That woke Peter up, to say the least.

“Nunchucks?! Who has nunchucks out before it’s even dark outside?” He whined, dumping his bag on the floor in resignation. In hindsight, he really answered his own question.

“Oh, I don’t know,” came the singsong voice that would have made Peter smile, had his circulation not just been abruptly cut off. “Maybe the guy who watched the Avengers Tower blow the fuck up last night and then never heard from the _other_ guy who’d run right in there, guns blazing? Except he didn’t have guns. Because guns are my thing.”

“Wade…”

Wade was perched directly above him, squatting down, and twirling another pair of nunchucks as if he was preparing to fling them at Peter’s other hand. “Oh, so you _have_ heard of me!”

“Wade, why am I nunchuck-ed to the fire escape?” Peter might have thrown in more sarcasm there, had he the energy for it, but instead the words came out deflated.

“Did you zone out for that whole passive aggressive spiel I just laid out? Because I thought it was pretty good.”

“Look,” Peter started, “I got in there, saved the day, then passed out on the couch for, like, an hour. Two tops. I think. Maybe my estimate is a little off, based on how low the sun is in the sky. But after that, I had to check in with Tony and debrief with Cap and Fury before I could go. I would _love_ to get back to passing out, preferably in a bed, but I’m not opposed to dropping right here in the next few minutes. Then you’ll have to deal with the guilt of me waking up with horrible back and neck pain.” Peter’s eyes were half-closed, and he wasn’t kidding half as much as he wished he was.

Wade seemed to realize that too, and took pity on him. “I’m the one trying to guilt you here,” he grumbled, swinging himself down to Peter’s level and unwrapping the weapons from Peter’s wrist. “No fair turning it around on me.”

“I _am_ sorry that I didn’t give you a head’s up,” Peter admitted, smiling lazily as Wade stalled with his hands on Peter’s wrist. “Thanks for worrying.”

Wade let him go, muttering something Peter didn’t catch, and opened the window for him.

Peter crawled, or rather flopped like dead weight, into Wade’s bed the second he entered the bedroom, but he could still feel Wade hesitating in the doorway. Without opening his eyes, he said, “You can join me if you want to. It’s your bed, after all. No hanky-panky though, considering the fact I’m pretty sure I’d fall asleep half-way through and that’s something I’d like to remember, thank you very much.”

Wade scoffed, and Peter felt the other side of the bed dip, but nothing more as he blinked out like a light the next moment.

\----

Peter woke up to darkness, feeling a strange sense of de ja vu. As he slowly came back to the land of the living, he felt the telltale dip in the mattress of another body. To his credit, he only panicked a for a split second, wondering why the heck his spider sense hadn’t alerted him to danger, until he flipped over and the sleep-hazy memories of the night before came back to him.

His movement had jerked Wade awake, too, who sprang to his feet faster than Peter had ever seen him move. One arm was out and pointing an imaginary gun, then he was spinning around and searching for something as he shouted, “Where’s Sherry!?”

“Sherry? What? No, it’s just me,” Peter said, rubbing his eyes until the sleep was cleared. “Sorry for waking you, I just wasn’t expecting…”

Wade visibly relaxed, flopping back onto the bed as if that was completely normal. Peter realized belatedly that Wade had his mask and suit off, in favor of wearing a pair of Peters oversized sweatpants. That small display of trust put a fuzzy feeling in Peter’s chest, and he tried his best to ignore how disgustingly sappy and slightly pathetic of him that was.

“Don’t get too excited, Pete, I didn’t watch you sleep. You passed out mid-sentence, which was rude as fuck by the way.”

Peter rolled his eyes, throwing an arm over his face in a poor attempt at covering up his dumb smile. “Yeah, yeah. You know, this technically counts as sleeping together.”

Wade gasped, slapping his hand to his exposed chest. “My virtue is tainted!”

“Because streaking through the White House grounds in a maid’s outfit last year didn’t already take care of that?”

Wade flipped onto his side, elbow bent to prop up his head while he grinned. That grin was so different outside of the mask, which should have been an obvious fact, but somehow the difference caught Peter completely off guard, and so he only heard half of whatever Wade was saying.

Then Wade snapped his fingers in Peter’s face, bringing him back to reality. “You alright there, Petey? You’re looking spacy-er than usual.”

“I can’t get over the way you look when you smile without the mask.” Mouth, meet foot. Honestly, Peter should be forbidden from speaking for himself for the rest of his life.

Wade’s grin froze, then he barked out a laugh and flipped over on his back, tossing his arms up and under his head. “Well, points for originality: I haven’t heard it put quite like that.”

Peter was _that_ close to wincing. “It was supposed to be a compliment.”

Wade turned his head enough to give Peter a good view of his eyebrow raise, brown eyes locking on Peter’s. “You’re a strange sort of person, aren’t you Spidey?”

“I think the saying, _it takes one to know one_ , fits unnaturally well in this case,” Peter drawled, letting a slow smile spread across his face as it became clearer that Wade was shutting him out. He decided to change the subject before he dug himself any deeper. “You know, I was pretty out of it last night.”

“No shit. You mumbled something about wanting me to meet Tony, and there’s no god damned way that was a sane thought.”

Peter _definitely_ didn’t remember that one. “Huh.”

Wade frowned. “That looks suspiciously like a thinking face. You thinking could really go both ways for me, and I’m not sure whether I should distract you or cheer you on…”

“Well I mean, what if you did?”

“Uh, been there, done that. His great big light beams and I are intimately acquainted.”

“True, but you haven’t been in the same room with him since…”

“Since when?” Wade prompted, rolling back on his side to face Peter with his head propped up as he practically leered. “Since we played tonsil hockey on the roof?”

“I would have put it a bit better than that.”

“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good.”

“Just good?” Peter prompted.

“Well my memory’s getting foggy, it was so long ago…”

“I really hope that was an invitation, because I’m taking it as one.”

“You know me so well,” Wade groused, grinning as Peter rolled over to throw a leg over Wade and straddle his hips. “Sure you’re not a telepath, Petey? Because it’s like you’re reading my mind right now.”

“Would it be something like, _gosh, I hope Peter kisses me soon_?”

“I have never once said gosh in my entire life, how dare you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased, daring Wade with his eyes as he reached out to take both of Wade’s wrists and trap them above Wade’s head on the pillow. “What are you going to do about it?”

That was clearly the right thing to do, if the look in Wades eyes was anything to go by. The way Wade wiggled his hips under him sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, and he shifted his hips in return, which put an entirely new grin on Wade’s face. “Come down here and find out.”

Who was Peter to say no to a request like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally supposed to be longer, with more sexy-times, but for now this is where I leave you. The life of a beta-less/crit-partner-less college student is a hard one, my dudes.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for the lovely feedback and kudos! The spideypool fandom is seriously one of the best and I loved being able to contribute!

**Author's Note:**

> -Yes, I took quite a few liberties in describing Black Mamba's power set. Please do not take my word as law.  
> -The Katniss reference meant Hawkeye
> 
>    
> -You can find me on tumblr at meganmazing (megamazing was taken *sobs*) but I rarely post about spideypool there  
> -No, this does not mean I've given up on that superbat sequel, but it does mean I want to crawl in a hole and have the story write itself because good lord that fic is hard


End file.
